A Structure of Pride
by hippiechick2112
Summary: A nurse, Captain Jeanie Morrison, comes to the 4077th at the beginning of the war and chronicles her first random adventures there. This is the first story of three in the series, "This Forsaken War".
1. Adjusting and Daydreaming

**A Structure of Pride**

**Note and Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own the characters to the show M*A*S*H (CBS and 20th Century Fox do), but if you want to use the main character of this story (which I have created), then please message me with permission first. This is a trilogy about my character, to continue until the end of the war and a little beyond it as well. Enjoy!**

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_August 21, 1950  
__The 4077th, Korea to Bloomington, Illinois_

_Dear Mom and Clarence,_

_So, I have arrived here in South Korea, safe and sound (well, it was two weeks ago), but very frightened about the war. It is just like I thought it was going to be (and just as the draft boards described to everybody else): hot, dusty and lacking the comforts of home…although I swear the natives say it'll turn bitter cold within a few months. The people (the nurses and doctors I work with, of course) are just as equally cold in their reception, not as cheery as the civilians._

_Don't get me wrong, though. I can't complain. There are enough soldiers here to comfort, our neighbor as the Commanding Officer and even a friendly Company Clerk who knows what Henry wants and needs (oh, yes, _that_ Henry Blake, Lorraine's husband). Oh, can I mention a sane Corporal that dresses in…well, dresses, to get a Section Eight? It's a ball here and the jokes are numerous on the military brats…_

I stared at the first page of my letter to my mother and stepfather. _Damn_, I thought, thinking of all the hard times they had given me before I went to West Germany (when I bothered to visit them in my rare spare time, of course) and then here to Korea. _Why should I open up my soul to them?_

I put down the pen, remembering the hardships of my childhood from those two idiots, and reread what I wrote to them in my first letter to the States. Somehow, though, as I read between those lines, I couldn't concentrate enough on writing a letter to them because of this and the noise in the tent. Around me, nurses came in and out, mostly with the doctors of the unit, but none of them could have noticed a petite captain, such as me, sitting on her bunk and writing a letter atop of her footlocker, which, I noticed as the weeks went by, that the nurses constantly pried into. The Head Nurse, Major Margaret Houlihan, was not sympathetic when I told her of my suspicions, and only snickered an "It'll be a while before you make friends" comment. There was no time to talk to Henry and others completely ignore me for some unknown reason.

I always guessed that I was new here and it would have taken a while anyhow.

_That's always the way it goes for me. I'm always kind, less snippy and too modest, so Henry says._ _I may be happy about leaving West Germany and the troubles there and being here in Korea, but it is kinda cold and strange here. Something is bound to happen here and it'll be a while before I can leave Korea. I have a feeling about it. I just don't know what is going to happen yet._

Sighing again, I tried concentrating back on the stupid letter once more, but finding the correct words to describe my position as just another nurse at an M*A*S*H unit in Korea was almost next to impossible. So, I thought harder and managed to pull out some constructive, yet perfectly conservative, words out of my mind to put the finishing touches. I mean, I had to put a little more _oomph_ into it, to make Mom believe that I was really on her side all of this time and not the whore she thinks I am.

Half the time, I have to do it, to make sure she doesn't damn me to high hell like she does to my father when he was around. In the past, she's called me a little hellion, a liberal Communist and worse. Being on her side was a good thing, especially after the episodes with Clarence, that jackass, but at the same time, sometimes I wondered if it was worth it or not.

_Well, I guess that the pranks on others to relieve the tension of war seemed puerile anyhow. I think I was a little too excited about it, like I always am about new places. You know, as everyone does, my penchant for fresh positions and exhilarating situations, although most people barely call themselves to my attention, even if I am the superior officer (it's an offense in the U.S. Army, as I've told you, and it's punishable, especially with the enlisted men).But, I can certainly say that Korea, in the middle of a just war with the Communists, is sure a blood-drenching experience._

_I do not intend a pun. I do mean that this is a beautiful place bombed for territory and I sure wish it can be resolved soon. I do miss you both, and Dean as well, although I know that his tour here in Korea will be coming up soon, in about another month after training for his post. But as you've both said, it is my duty and not a choice to come here and patch up those who fight against the ungodly and unethical Communist Reds._

_With much love, Jeanette Karen Morrison_

I scanned the few paragraphs (such a small letter indeed, but it'll do for the time being for them), making sure that there were no offensive words that suggested my inner liberal and less religious spirit. Then, finally satisfied that I mended my words carefully enough after rereading it a few times (and lied in the process mostly), I sealed the letter in an envelope lying alone at the end of the footlocker.

Three folds, stuff the letter in the envelope, seal the damned letter and stamp and address it…it had been a part of my life for many years and it hadn't changed much in the ten years since I was in nursing school and working for the military. Come to think about it, I had not meant to choose this as a career in my life, but it was an escape route out of where I stood and it got me away. I almost gleefully accepted the "draft notice" (if you want to say it that, it really wasn't), a few years back, and it took me to places that I never dreamed I would go to. There was a fork in the road and my pathway was clear: go out into the world, when the time came, and not deal with the torture that comes with meddling family members.

I sat back against my bunk and took in the moment, a moment of relaxation. There was still time to revise that letter. I didn't even want to bother to bring the letter to the Company Clerk, Corporal "Radar" O'Reilly, and have him mail it yet, just in case I thought of something more neutral (or more conservative) to say.

Closing my eyes, oblivious to the chatter in the tent, I felt around the edges of the envelope, as if there was some surprise inside I was excited about, and finally laid it down on the footlocker. To my right, I heard finally heard the satisfying giggles from the nurses over some note one had. To my left, I felt a light breeze – soon to be cold – one that satisfied me, if only for a while.

Naturally, I remembered well what her mother had always said to me about those "loose" women, which was what she would have called the nurses in the tent. The shy daughter in me was always ignoring these warnings, always trying to be "one of them", but there were consequences to this, as always. Growing up so conservative, I knew that I was too serious, as I was taught to be, and to never indulge in the pleasures that give happiness of a human being.

Well, _that_ particular pleasure had been given to me, but never with my consent. All had been against my will. And I damn the person, who lives with my mother, who done it to me.

Again, my thoughts moved, musing some more.

_I_ _couldn't say that the events, had they been a dissimilar person, would have given anybody sheer happiness. It's been a hard, cold life. I could hardly switch it with anyone._

Knocking my boots off finally, I opened my eyes and put the envelope down at last on top of the footlocker, weary of the nosy nurses and flirtiest doctors (Hawkeye Pierce had been in here at least four times by now, Trapper McIntyre six, as if to compete with his bunkmate). I hopped back on the bottom bunk, bumping into some nurse in the meantime (she moved out of my bunk immediately), and laid my brunette head on the hard pillow. That pile of hair, always in my way, made a comfortable cushion between head and pillow and it dared me to dream, to dig deep into my memories and recall a time, so far ago, that made me come to this "hellhole" called the 4077th M*A*S*H.


	2. Times Long Ago

_She was a twin and born second after her brother, Dean, on a cold and snowy late day in late November of 1922: the curse of her family, the continuing line. Her parents had been together then, since after the First World War, and had children from previous marriages. Both of their spouses were dead and they wished to start another family line, a greater one than the previous ones._

_She and Dean never saw these other siblings together in the same room. They didn't need to, as they all wished to argue and attempt to kill the other, which was why their parents wanted a new family, despite how they successfully continued to the next generation. However, both were old already when the twins were born – in their late thirties, at least – and considered too old to have more children._

_Their father, the infamous Colonel "Heartless" Patrick Morrison, was a military man – famous within his own ranks – and was more devoted to his work rather than his own family, especially concerning the twins. He always drank, especially after the First World War, causing him to stay at their first house, finishing paperwork more often than commanding and being on the field with the men, especially when the company was suddenly shipped overseas when his youngest children started to grow older._

_To the Colonel, it didn't matter what occasion it was: drinking was a hobby and it was his favorite one. He always had the bottle in his hands. Even in the family's Holy Bible – something his family had passed on from generation to generation – he brought to Church on Sundays was not spared. He had the pages carved out – the pages their mother used to read to them before he took it away – so that a bottle could fit inside, ready to be emptied and thrown out as they passed their parish priest on the way out the door._

_She remembered that her father wasn't exactly warm, even when he was at his rare sober moments. He always had the glare of a man who had seen too many battles that fatigued him, too many battles that could have claimed his life, but left him within an empty shell of a mind: a life spent. The Colonel himself was tired of war, but did his duty when he was called up, even in civilian unrest. His then-wife would describe him as a man ready for death, at anytime. If he had to commit suicide, he would do so within a heartbeat. If had to run into battle, even when he knew that all was lost, he would do so. And his family feared it._

_However, his overall attitude, especially to her without the alcohol, was less than welcoming. Much like their mother, he had had the pleasure of having all sons as children and was so surprised that she had dared to slip into the world only a few minutes after Dean had. The Colonel had no use for women, which was what made their mother leave him eventually (loving another man happened to be an additional reason), and complained about her anytime he could._

"_What can we do with a little girl in the family?" he would boom, sober or drunk, at their religious and overly-Catholic mother, Rebeccah._

_Her mother, in turn, would shudder and cower in every corner – despite not acting the mother and protecting her children – any time she could, especially when he picked a fight. If she dared to fight back, however, she only lectured him when he was unconscious, dead in a sleep that would later render him bitterer. He was worse then._

_Their mother had also figured out many ways to evade the dominating personality without arguing with him: ignoring his drinking usually. Without any other children around to take care of (because her older sons were with their grandmother overseas, in Holland), save for the twins, she felt no more responsibility to her family and left to her future husband's home, coming back only when it was convenient for her._

_The family lived in the small home of Toluca, Illinois then, the same place the twins had been born. Rebeccah, at the time, thought the twins, by the time they were not even out of their toddler years, could take care of themselves. They were already perfect in camouflaging like she was because they were smaller, so she thought it a good idea to leave them alone. For longer periods of time, she left the house and them._

_In turn, by the time the twins were four years old, these absences and their father's wrath upon them were a common occurrence and a norm in their lives. Every other day, their lives were measured by how quickly they left the house for school or to the park, what time they came home and if they could manage to make dinner for their father, who was usually in a drunken state on the kitchen floor or roaring for food at the dining room table._

_The neighbors whispered about the happenings, but didn't dare to comment to the parents' faces. To them, there was nothing worse than being confronted by military man inside, so they left the family alone._

_Within the year, finally, their parents had insinuated a formal separation and, in a dramatic scene that summer between both parents, both she and Dean were taken by their mother and soon-to-be stepfather, Clarence (someone Rebeccah had been seeing for a few years, when the Colonel's drinking had become too much), and moved to their new home in Peoria, Illinois: a faraway city that ensured the Colonel wouldn't dare come to see his youngest children. He didn't seem to have an interest in them, so Rebeccah took them away._

_Afterward, whether it was a month or even a year, the foursome would move from town to town in Illinois (Rebeccah and Clarence had been married then, trying not to cause a scandal within their Church circles), as if they were bandits on the run from the law enforcement. By the time she and Dean were ten years old, they had lived in over thirty towns and cities in Illinois and once, they had lived in a small town in Ohio, for only two months. They never made any friends because they never settled in one place for a long period of time. There wasn't any point in it._

_Also by the time they were ten, they had finally settled down in the town of Bloomington, Illinois (a final destination before leaving for good), where their father had caught up with them, arguing that it was his right to see the children, which angered Rebeccah and her husband. The new neighbors, on the other hand, were baffled by the inter-family arguments that always happened to occur at night, usually with someone breaking a booze bottle._

_One neighbor, though, was brave enough to stick her head out often and offered a hand in taking care of the children as both parents and stepfather stepped up the level of violence that took place in each bout of fighting. She only knew this neighbor as Mildred Lorraine (called by her middle name of Lorraine more often), who always had that in-training medical student in her house, Henry Blake. At the beginning of their relationship and up to their marriage in 1940, the pair would take turns watching the twins as they had playtime in the backyard, hiding in the trees and watching secretly as their family battled drunkenly, their mother and stepfather even drinking heavily._

_Soon, autumn came and those days ended, so Lorraine was given permission to put the children in school, Rebeccah only signing the paperwork because she was their mother, not quite paying attention to what she was signing. She and Dean were only relieved at this small interference on their mother's part, especially when the neighbor offered to watch them more. As school took over their lives, their books replaced the comforts of the backyard and the carefree days of hiding from Rebeccah, Clarence and Patrick were gone._

_The days afterward, in each season, promised more trouble for the both of the twins, even if their lives seemed to be normal from the outside. The worst had been the divorce battle, which took a turn for the worse as the court became involved. The judge decreed that they split their time between both parties. The third one, Lorraine and Henry (petitioning for a place in their lives, since they had been wishing to be guardians), were ignored even though they were the ones taking care of the children and asking to be guardians instead of the usual parental supervision._

_This meant that both had to spend some of their time with the drunken Colonel, who, at times, left the children alone in his house – across town in Bloomington – and went to the bar. Rebeccah and Clarence, however, had been married for a few years and tried to form a family with the twins, pretending to be concerned about their welfare. The two children knew better and ignored them mostly. Hiding at their father's and escaping their mother's, they seemed to have a double life, only showing their true selves with Lorraine and Henry._

_Clarence, who was known to be a devout Catholic and looked like he idealistically idolized their mother, harassed the twins, her most of all, especially when he was drunk. He threatened to take away what she thought of was happiness in her life, including taking Dean to the local military recruiters. It was not long before he began to sexually harass her and send her brother away when he complained._

_Dean was taken to a "specialized school" (as Rebeccah called it, thinking it would correct her son), one for the military, and stayed there for basic training. He even accepted his deployment notice after he turned eighteen – war was on the horizon soon enough – and went off to war in Germany for all the years of the war, narrowly escaping injury and capture by the enemy, coming back as a war hero by the war's end in 1945._

_Her life, however, had also taken a turn for the worse, too, as the stress took a toll on her. She was sick more often than before and it caused her to miss more and more of school. However, before she turned eighteen, Lorraine offered to home-school her, which took a while to complete. When this was accepted – with the Colonel disappearing once more, permanently, as he moved out of Bloomington – she stayed more with Lorraine and Henry. However, after some time passed, she escaped them as well and ran for nursing school. Occasionally coming back to live with them had been her only other comfort._


	3. Called to Duty

I soon was disturbed from my memories by an announcement from over the P.A., the usual (and of course, something I had not heard in some hours), but the most stressed-filled one of all. "Attention, attention, all personnel: attention, it's oh-seven hundred hours and we've got a large load from the Front. Incoming wounded!"

Immediately – as it was before many times, dedicated as we all are – the nurses and others in the tent, who had stopped their giggling and fooling around by the time the announcement came on, dropped everything to tend to business. I got up as quickly as the others (the last one out, as usual) and ran right out the door along with them, ignoring it as it slammed right into my face, knocking me backwards and leaving yet another few hundred marks on my nose and forehead.

_What difference did that make? It's not like I've had worse._

I usually had the door in my face, stupid me, and I should have anticipated it, even if the nurses were polite enough to leave it open for me. I mean, at first, I had not taken it into account because we're all in a hurry to help the wounded, but as the time went on and the wounded kept pouring in, I swear I could almost _taste_ the door to my mouth each and every time. Sometimes it was at random times, especially when I was doing nothing or even standing for hours at the O.R. or in Post-Op (once, I even tasted it in the Mess Tent, which seemed better than the food itself). It was a strange sensation, this taste of a tent door. It made me laugh every time, too, but I tried to be serious when I was working on the compound.

As I ran out the door, to help Henry (the nearest doctor to me, ironically enough), I thought about that irritation, something always in the back of my mind. Then, after being called to help Major Frank Burns (Henry pushed me in that direction and then went into another), the local camp Army brat as Major Houlihan was, and assisted him with a wounded corporal (_Is he nineteen years old?_ I would usually think as I ordered another child wheeled into another table), I remembered that nagging feeling, trying to balance it with my sense of duty and obligation.

_Was it because of being new here? Or, am I somehow different?_

That was everyone was telling me: Henry, Major Houlihan and even Radar, when once I asked him, sitting across from me in the Mess Tent (the only person who would sit with me half the time), why everyone was giving me a cold shoulder. Well, I think Radar is the only person in the camp who would talk to me anyhow (it was appreciated because I could not confine myself to loneliness). He told me the truth in everything and knew all of the gossip and what-not around the camp in his backhanded sort of way. He also invited me to eavesdrop on Henry in his office once in a while.

This thought process got me through the initial look-over of wounded soldiers and carried me to Pre-Op and the O.R. as well. Washing and then dressing in my best white gown for surgery (and sometimes feeling like a horrible K.K.K. member, all in white, and making me shudder), I nipped at my lip, which had suddenly become a new activity for me. True, I had always been a shy, quiet creature. My thin figure had given others thinking that I was a shadow. Even when I tried to speak, I was often drowned out in a sea of noise, usually in the form of our obnoxious and best doctors, Hawkeye and Trapper.

It had been the same way since I was small and jumping at dust bunnies at my father's home, when I had to spent time with him; since I was in different grade schools, moving five times or more a year until I was ten years old; since I was in nursing school, away from Bloomington and bouncing around in Boston; since I accepted the notice to go to Germany, a mere few years ago, before the war here in Korea even started. It had indeed seemed that the world, even Henry Blake (who hasn't really seen me since, I don't know, 1941 or so, except finding me flopped on his couch or in a bedroom with one of his daughters), didn't wish to hear about little old me, Jeanie Morrison.

"Move it, Captain! We have wounded in there!" Major Houlihan had caught me again, merely thinking and staring out in space again as I was dressed and staring at the door of the O.R., not noticing Hawkeye and Trapper rudely imitating Frank Burns behind his back.

I didn't mean it. It had been the second time in a week (well, _this_ week) since I was caught in such a state and it gave me a start. Hell, I didn't mean the response, either. I think I just wanted to make up for anything, but couldn't really think of anything because I was very startled by being caught acting stupid…again.

_What the hell is wrong with me anyhow?_

"I-I-I'm s-s-so s-s-s-sorry, Major," I said with a salute (I made sure not to make contact with anything because I was gloved) although the latter was ignored. The apology, however, was accepted and that was all that mattered to me, I guess. The Major's nod of approval to this was proof enough, but she had turned away as soon as she was saluted.

_Damn the ranking officers_, I thought, not for the first time. _Who actually cares about them anyway? I may have been promoted to Captain, but I didn't earn the respect from others or for myself. Well, I never command it nor get it, anyhow. It's a joke. Even in West Germany, I thought it was a joke. I had superior officers, but I was in command of many little minions. And the minions, while listening to me…well, laughed and talked because of what I did._

Trying not to laugh upon hearing Trapper and Hawkeye trying to insult Frank Burns (they always banter back and forth before Henry tells them to shut it), I went into the O.R., more thoughts coming forward fast. I was then helping Hawkeye this time and not Frank Burns (an ass, as always) or Henry (who was pretty easy to deal with under the tension, believe it or not), who commented on something I didn't catch before Major Houlihan told him to start respecting _her_ nurses.

_No, I am noticed here; it is just that nobody wishes to know about me. Yes, that's it!_ I thought the possible real reason about my anomalous figure here. It seemed to be an obsession with me: to figure out why I'm not well-liked here, or even welcomed.

"Clamp, Nurse!"

I struggled not to sit and ponder why I was nothing here. _Or anywhere else in this world_, I thought bitterly as another shout for another instrument passed in my ears. I moved quickly and passed on whatever Hawkeye wanted.

Finally, after what seemed like days – months, sometimes, time was so slow – one child was finished and another came in, younger-looking than the last. I then went into another table, this time with Trapper, who just waved me over immediately giving me orders as the soldier was stripped and checked for booby-traps and other dangerous objects before being put under.

I even passed a busy Henry Blake before helping Trapper. He gave me the _perfect _fatherly eye when nobody was watching – irritated, of course, but always worrying about me, for some odd reason – reminding me, in so many words and motions, that later, he wanted to talk to me about something (I knew that look from anywhere, as I had known him for so long). It was, as time demanded, after such obligations to the war had been fulfilled. He knew that.

I didn't mind it as such except when Henry was being a jerk and being over-protective or telling me what to do, like I was still a teenager. Indeed, I miss those _real_ conversations with Henry. He used to sit me down and discuss everything with me, even argued with me (still!) about the Army's "notice", wondering why I took it up earlier than most people or went in instead of watching for some draft notice. But, since he is busier than ever before (even with Radar handing him papers to sign without him noticing a thing about what they're all about), I cherish those moments and try to remember them without wanting to kill him the other times. They are rare indeed.

"Sponge!" And there was Trapper, yelling me to help save another life as we got to work, spaceless moments later. I handed him what he needed, always on the alert to do something, and pondering, once more.

Well, I always used to think that, after I was reunited with my longtime "father figure" (Henry, I mean), that everything might be fine and that Henry would at _least_ talk to me more, seeing as how he was pissed about me heading off to Europe after the last war (West Germany in the springtime is nice, by the way, and the flower smelled _wonderful_, especially with…oh, God, no, I can't think about _him_ while working). But, as always, there was the command post to exercise, especially with a bunch of rowdy, if not dedicated staff here. And, with Majors Houlihan and Burns always going over his head, Henry has a lot more to deal with than just a bunch of adults, acting as children, trying to keep sane in this insane war.

Radar, the Company Clerk, has been the friendliest face for the first weeks I've been at the 4077th and he's been the only one who talks to me, like I mentioned. It was a miracle, indeed, that I found Radar to talk to. And, with him around, I can easily talk with the other doctors with more confidence, if they noticed me at all (rarely), because the Company Clerk warns me about their moods and such and what to expect. I take them in stride and talk about patients to them at the most appropriate time, and then walk away. It's as simple as that. Socializing isn't really a thing with me, especially seeing as how it seems almost pushy for me to make the first move.

It is funny, too, as Radar has no confidence himself too. He's _so_ much younger than we all are mentally and physically – eighteen going on ten, sometimes, I think – and he seems older than his years, especially when he has responsibility on his shoulders. His teddy bear, kept at his cot, is _adorable_, and I always giggled at it every time I went through his space, bouncing on his cot and playing with his bear. Even once, when I watched him sleep after my night shift, I smiled. I would always wonder how it was that someone could keep their inner child and be safe with such an object.

The casualties outside gave me an idea of how hectic it was going to be in O.R. as my daydreams ended and Trapper demanded more out of me…and somebody else with more experienced hands than mine.

"Dammit, Henry, give me some help here!" Trapper yelled as blood came forth suddenly. "Nurse, move out of there! Get on the other side!" Trapper then shoved me aside with his elbows and Henry took my place and told me to help Hawkeye (who went missing for a moment).

Stumbling to the other side of the table, I asked Henry, "Where is he?"

Major Houlihan sighed at me as she came over. "He's over there, Captain," she said, pointing at the door. "He's been waiting for you."

_Oh, really?_ I thought, tempted to reply back to her as such (in my sarcastic tone, no doubt about it), but decided not to. It's enough that she hates me already and, being an Army brat, she'll try to go over Henry's head and get me on bed arrest (she tried that with Nurse Baker already, failing miserably in the process). Worse is tent arrest, which means I'll have to be isolated alone, without the nurses, and _never_ come out for anything except emergencies. Well, I _might _welcome that, depending on my mood.

_What will these doctors have up their sleeves today? _I thought and not for the first time, as Hawkeye claimed me once more and motioned me to the next table with the next solider, telling me to get new gloves before beginning. _What sort of miracles are they to perform today? There is so much to consider and so little time to save these lives._


	4. A Letter to a Brother

_September 2, 1950__  
The 4077__th__, Korea to the 43__rd__, San Francisco, California_

_To my twin brother Dean, stationed to come here to hell as soon as he is done with training –_

_Greetings to you, older brother (how can I _forget_ that?), who has finally completed his advanced training, so that he could come here to Korea, as a _fine_ officer (Major instead of Captain and I am proud!), instead of going to Nazi Germany. I had not thought to be so formal with you at first, but I have been angry lately and am trying to control my temper. I don't know why, and Jesus…I'm already complaining to you in a letter. I HATE writing letters and you, of all people, should know it. But because we're so far apart and not talking to each other in person, then this will have to do. You even said so yourself in your last letter, saying how you could not even get a phone call to Tokyo. And I know that you HATE being away from me and not being able to talk to me. This is the best we're going to get, I guess. Oh, well. I think we both can deal with it._

_I had really not seen you since July, when this war started (and I quickly snuck back into Bloomington from West Germany), and I didn't the chance yet to giggle over Mother's new hobby – bridge games at Monday nights with other churchgoers – with you as that last occasion was overshadowed by this thing they call a "police action" in the States. My duty, as yours is now, is to our country and to defeat the Communists who want to "take over the American way of life", as Major Frank Burns would say, like in his last lecture about what the war is about. What a twit!_

_I used to laugh about that when my notice came when I was in West Germany. So, I took the first plane out, seeing as how I was needed there as soon as possible. Then, here I am, in Korea, never caring about the damned Communists just three miles away and how close we are to them if they decide to jump over the Front Lines (we are called a mobile hospital for nothing!). Well, I can't even dare to laugh about it because of what I see here. I can't say it here, but can only let you imagine the obvious, since you've been there already._

_Perhaps this is what we can discuss when you come here...? I am sure that you will be posted about here in __Uijongbu, South Korea, since we're oh-so-cozy with the Front Lines here. After all, all of the action is usually here or farther up north. We are three miles from the Front Lines, remember? And all the Communists have been pushed back up since the beginning of the war, just a few months ago._

_I can't imagine such a serious conversation with you, Dean, so I'll begin to tell you about my troubles and trifles here, if you wish to call them that. Dammit, here I am, laughing about complaining to you again. Well, it's a change of topic and truthfully, this might not be new to you, as you know the sacrifices of war (and peace, if you must say). Here are some things that have happened here._

_I've written to Mom and Clarence about this little fact (funny as it is): Henry Blake is our commanding officer here. You're sure to laugh! Henry hasn't been able to make the true decisions about his household and can't even have a _good_ day, even when he was sick and in bed. Remember how Lorraine rubbed his back (still in curlers) that one time, Janie and Molly making noise at the side of the house and his dog having an accident before his bed? You know, that one image has me laughing now. The nurses are giving me a look, but I can care less._

_Or do I? I don't know, and maybe I can explore that feeling more when I tell you more about this place and the people who run it. You might laugh, you might cry and you might even speculate why your wayward sister is having a hard time here._

_Well, it isn't JUST the war that is bothering me. It's the boys that come here. There are children younger than we are, younger than when we were when we left Mom (we weren't even eighteen, for Christ's sake, when we went to school or war or whatever). Good God, you know that I'm not that religious, Dean, but just being here makes me want to pray to some heavenly figure that these people will come out of here alive and going home soon, just like us (but, knowing about the family curse – which I call pure superstition – then we can happily be on our merry ways). You want to believe that you'll be fine, but you're not. You look at the children, their families and the soldiers and wonder why we're here. Even the natives here make me upset. Their hospitals are unsanitary and most babies are born dead, their mothers dying right after them. Henry has helped to changed that, thank God, but it's still the same, poor country with some quaint beauty around it. It saddens me._

_Dammit, I'm crying already. I wanted to feel better writing a letter to you and making you laugh as well, but it isn't happening. Instead, I am sending my tears of unhappiness at being alone…at being without friends…at the bitterness of being without a single memory of goodness except with the people I love the most, but are barely there with me most of the time. I hope you come to see me soon, as you come to this country, and remember your youngest sibling…well, the only one you really talk to._

_Your sister, Jeanie_


	5. Barely a Moment with Henry

"Yes, General Clayton, it's not as serious as you were told it was by majors Burns and Houlihan. No, Sir, they're dedicated doctors and nurses and – no, Sir, I am not contradicting you, I was just saying that we're all a bunch of rowdy people and –"

Radar and I were waiting outside of Henry's office space, listening to yet another conversation he was having with General Clayton. Apparently, Majors Burns and Houlihan went to him after complaining to Henry about the antics of the camp. They found no solution from the Colonel, so they typed out a letter to said General and shipped it off secretly. After destroying the typewriter in a fit of passion (so says Radar, spying in the hole in Major Houlihan's tent, but he worded it differently), they stole the one from Radar's space (as he was pretending to sleep, listening to every word they said about the people in camp) and finished it quickly, trying to get Henry into trouble…yet again.

"I don't think this is going to be done anytime soon, Radar," I complained, tired of listening in to the double-talk (Henry and military, which makes me a bigger circle than ever before) and moving away from the doors. "Why don't you get me when Henry's done with General Clayton?" I looked at the watch on my wrist. "I have a shift with Nurse Baker in about twenty minutes in Post-Op. I don't want to be late again and have Major Houlihan kick me in the –"

"Radar, you can bring Captain Morrison in to the office now," Henry called as Radar stood by me, about to leave along with me, and said (at the same time as Henry, as always), "I'll bring Captain Morrison into the office now!", or something to that effect. I could not tell what is said when the two simultaneously talk.

I sighed, opening the doors to the office by myself and leaving Radar behind to spy, letting the swinging, light door hit me from behind. I then looked at Henry ahead of me, tired from talking to General Clayton, I know, and saw his goofy grin, always there when he saw me. I mean, the man practically raised me, along with his wife. He's been the father I never had when he had the chance to see me…except, of course, the last ten years away from Bloomington, seeing me when I chose to conveniently see him.

Henry copied my motion and sighed himself, giving me a good up-and-down look. "Sit, Jeanie," he ordered (well, it was close to an order, anyway). "I'm not upset with you or this motley crew here, as you've probably heard or something, but –"

"I know, Henry," I interrupted, sitting in the chair in front of his desk (and knowing he knew we spied on him). "It's not easy being here and being a commanding officer to a bunch of misfits and idiots. And I can't believe that we're stuck here together. I didn't expect it."

"Better than handing you over someplace else and having some nitwit watch you," Henry replied, not caring about me interrupting him, as I sometimes did (other times, he hated it, especially when he was angry with me). "I'd rather keep my eye on you here than watching you parade in another country or someplace else in Korea."

I think Henry was still upset over me going to West Germany after the last war, but I could not tell because his face looked droopy, as if he had a hangover earlier and was recovering from it still (or, he had a long night with some nurse, which pisses me off to no end). I knew he missed me, though. I haven't seen him much in five years. Two years went to West Germany and the three before that, I was hopping around the States, doing what the military wanted me to do…or, so said the official records. The real truth is too far-fetched to even _think_ about at the moment.

"I couldn't help it," I complained feebly, knowing that the excuse was lame. "I go where I'm ordered to go. You know that."

"Good," Henry smiled, ready to tell me something he's been waiting to say. "Then I order you to stay away from Pierce and McIntyre, socially."

My jaw dropped.

"Those two are in bigger trouble than I realized," the commanding officer in Henry explained to me, slowly and carefully, just as a father should. "It's more complicated than you think it is. Other than the usual complaints, Houlihan and Burns have gone over my head and are trying to put _me_ on trial. They want to court martial me…again."

"You got away with it _again_, as far as I'm concerned." I paused. "Henry, you'll get through it. You always did. I mean, this is an M*A*S*H unit. It's not as 'complicated' as you think it is. I mean, you're commanding doctors, nurses, orderlies and some random odds and ends and not a bunch of minions."

I remembered my time in West Germany upon saying "minions" and shut my mouth…_almost_. I wasn't ready to tell Henry about the time there. It was dangerous enough without even thinking about the Soviets over the border in the East and how, if they found me, would kill me. Either way…

However, I don't think Henry noticed anything about my comments, but just lazily nodded his head, admitting, "I'm more concerned about the swell guys and gals here. Radar practically runs this camp, Burns and Houlihan complain, Pierce and McIntyre fool around, but are ok and everybody functions fine. We have the finest care anywhere in this country and have a survival rate of over ninety percent. Is that enough for those two Majors?"

"Not really," I was about to say when Major Houlihan burst into the office, the smell of Army spam about her. And she _retched_ of it…_badly_.

"Colonel Blake," she began frantically, ignoring the fact that Henry put his head down on his desk (ignoring _her_ and trying to get rid of the hangover I thought he had), "come quickly! Major Burns has slipped at the Mess Tent! Oh, he might be hurt! His back might have given out again!"

I suppressed a giggle, knowing what it was: Hawkeye and Trapper taking the Mess Hall food and pouring it on Frank Burns via a bucket rigged to pour on his head, but I didn't want to tell Major Houlihan _that_. I mean, I didn't mean to eavesdrop on the two doctors in the Swamp as I walked around the camp in search of one of them, but I really couldn't help it. I needed Hawkeye in Post-Op (wasn't quite an emergency), noticed him talking to Trapper, and shut up for a few minutes, waiting patiently for the two to stop their scheming.

"Is there something funny, Captain?" Major Houlihan asked me as she noticed my snickering, her face turning towards a more sinister side than the pathetic, desperate whimper of hers.

"Oh, no, Major," I replied somberly as I cleared my throat. "But I was wondering…what had happened? Is Major Burns ok?"

Major Houlihan didn't sense my false sincerity (which was a good thing, seeing as how I only used it on my mother and I wasn't sure if it worked or not on other people), but Henry still didn't pay attention to her as she exclaimed, "Well, if Colonel Blake can hurry, we can see if Frank is ok!" She ignored by first question, possibly embarrassed by what happened.

I almost giggled again, noticing the Head Nurse's faux pas mentioning her significant other's first name and not by proper rank, but suppressed it again.

"Ummm, Major, I don't think –" I began, trying to pay attention to the time and get to my shift in time before I got yelled at again.

"Come _on,_ Colonel," Major Houlihan urged Henry as I tried to sneak out to Post-Op for my shift. "Major Burns could be _dying_ as we speak!"

Henry looked up. "Major, I could seriously give a _patoot's_ behind about Major Burns, but you still haven't answered the Captain's question. What happened?"

"Well, Sir," Major Houlihan began hesitantly, "Major Burns and I were having our morning breakfast in the Mess Tent when, oh, those two _idiots_ –"

"Choppers!" Radar yelled over Major Houlihan as he popped his head into the office and then ran off again. I didn't hear anything, but before long (seconds really), the noise was there and it echoed in my ears.

Henry rose from his seat. "There, you see, Major," he said as he heard them too. "We'll help Major Burns as soon as we can. I guess now is the best time."

"It had better be _now_, Colonel!"

The two rushed out after Major Houlihan's somewhat urgent shout – pushing me aside, as per usual – to get to Major Burns and then meet the next batch of wounded.

I ran out with them again, swinging Henry's office doors open, and was about to exit the last door when they hit me in the face again as I ran out, making me stop, thinking about tasting doors again. I rubbed my forehead and nose, but it was no use anymore. This door-in-my-face thing was going to be normal from the moment onward, seeing as how Henry just did it to me. And that guy _never_ does a thing like that to me, intentional or otherwise. And he usually apologized when he realized something like that happened to someone via his hands.

Defeated, in Radar's space, empty except for noise outside, I stood there. I knew I had to hurry up and get to the chopper pad, but I couldn't quite make myself move. I had to, though. _They need me. They need me. They –_

"Next time, let's make it garbage," I heard Trapper say outside the doors as I heard feet running.

"No, no, think better, better than poisoning and stabbing and shooting him," Hawkeye replied in an even tone. "I heard of something done to people sleeping –"

"Attention, attention all personnel: breakfast in bed has been cancelled. We have wounded!" The usual announcement was yelled over the running, ordering and yelling.

_I have to move. They need me. They need me. I have to move. I –_

Radar stopped by me – he came out of nowhere, I swear! – and I didn't notice his presence until he asked behind me, "Ma'am, are you all right?"

I must have jumped a mile in the air because I made some incomprehensible noise at him until heard myself make a complete sentence. And _that_ took a few seconds to do.

"Oh, no, oh, damn, I'm ok, Radar," I said, all in one sentence, running out the door again to meet the wounded.

I didn't mean to be _that_ rude to Radar, but my fright was getting to me badly and I didn't know why. Something was bothering me and it was more than people slamming the doors in my face every time we have work to do.

But when _will_ I _actually_ get to talk to Henry again? How will I get his attention when everybody else had it? What _was_ wrong with me? I didn't know, but had other things to concentrate on other than those questions. And by the amount of wounded we had (with the buses coming in, as well, with ambulances and choppers too), I knew we had a long day ahead of us.


	6. Complaints and Suggestions

A few days later, I found myself going to Radar's space, thinking once more about my pitiful situation, and staring at the typewriter on the desk (Majors Burns and Houlihan finally put it back). After over forty hours in O.R. and taking orders from Major Houlihan once more (barking at me to work with Major Burns and finally, shutting me up after I said some smartass comment back, with Hawkeye and Trapper laughing behind their masks), I was tired. And I couldn't sleep. The nurses were already in Post-Op, at the Mess Tent or in their own tents: sleeping, having coffee, taking a shift or flirting with the doctors.

I already had my shift; it had been over for an hour. I could technically claim the right to sleep for an hour or so, but I didn't want to (or go back to the nurses' tent) for many reasons. For one, I didn't want to deal with the other nurses and the noise they make if not sleeping, if you know what I mean. Another was that I had wanted to solve a problem and I was about to…if I could find the words to express myself.

How was I going to tell Henry about my problems? I _could_ tell him about my adventures before coming here to Korea, but then again…does he have time to even comprehend the most horrendous of it all? Would he even _listen_? I didn't know. I didn't even know if he'd bother to read this memo either. I was bad about writing and typing and had not bothered with lessons on how to type properly, even in the Army. I could carefully craft letters, but I was not a writer or anything like that. It was not my forte, but Dean's. _He_ could write and write and never stop to breathe. His hand would never cramp up with pain, like mine usually did. No, he was _good_, writing poetry and stories to forget the pain and then crumbling them up and burning it in the fire, forgetting it. I never learned.

I sighed, thinking of words to say to my commanding officer, and cracked my knuckles (another new habit of mine, since my lip was already having more holes than the Front Lines). I then started typing, making it all military-like, and then thought better of it. _Wouldn't Major Houlihan be so proud of me if I did?_ I think not. She would not care, either way. And in any case, Henry wasn't the military type of guy. He went to medical and commanding school and that's about it. And how he went to commanding school, I would never know, since he can't even command his own body.

_To: Commanding Officer, Lt. Colonel Henry Blake  
From: Nurse, Captain Jeanette Morrison  
September 12, 1950, 1100 Hours  
Memo: Concerning Camp Activities and Such Other Things_

_Hey, Henry!_

_Since I can't get your attention and/or have not the time to talk to you, as more pressing matters come in the form of Majors Houlihan and Burns (or things around the camp, as you've pointed out), I might as well amuse you and type this out. At this point in time, this Captain's hand has been tired out via over forty hours of surgery and another seven at Post-Op. Sleep has been eluded for quite some time now and my patience at typing this is pretty damned thin. And you probably know that._

_Anyhow…I wanted to talk to you about my time in this damned hell of a camp so far. I'll be honest. Other than being frightened about being three miles from the Front Lines (amongst other things), I'm frightened for my sanity, if there was any to begin with. You think these people here are swell and nice, and they are. You think they do their jobs well and make this place a success, and they do. But in front of me, I see nothing more than ignorance and compassion of each other and a total case of the blues here. I guess it's my fault, really._

_I have always been sneered at and oftentimes alone here. And I think the latter is my fault, but at the same time, I thought that this place, I could at least confine in someone. I didn't expect that it would be you and Radar (at times, especially at the Mess Tent, when he's eating all that food), though. Henry, you'd think that I was a doorknob here. Just the other day (well, the other week, but still!), you slammed the door in my face without a single thought. And there's more going on than you just slamming a wooden door in my face…like everybody else does._

_The nurses go through my footlocker like it's their business to. They read my letters all the time (gossiping about my mother and her instructions) and laugh behind their hands when I get into trouble with Major Houlihan. And the Head Nurse is so Regular Army that I'm afraid that she won't be able to relax, the rod is so far up her you-know-what. Even with Major Frank Burns around, I don't think anything will improve._

_Oh, did I tell you, Henry, that our Head Nurse ALSO gives me the creeps? Major Houlihan is Regular Army all right, but at the same time, she makes it so that she WON'T be liked by anyone BUT Major Burns. And I don't wanna go there, because that's just…a little more than wrong right now._

_Do I do the same thing? I mean, I've been in the Army since I was eighteen years old (their nursing school, really) and got a notice to serve my country from my previous assignment to come to this cocktail party (although, I am wondering whether or not the North Koreans and Chinese prefer white or red wine). I'm not even twenty-eight years old yet. We're all getting too old here already. Parties tire people out, you know?_

_Am I too Regular Army as well? Is this what has been driving the nurses to treat me this way? I don't know what I did and I am willing to amend it, except in the case where it changes who I am and my principles and morals, as you know. I'm not a religious person or anything (thanks to Mom), but seriously, I have my own set of values and morals. It's not like I'm a little heathen Communist, like my mother used to call me all the time. Dammit, Henry! What can I do?_

I reread what I wrote and smiled. _It's true and he knows it_. But will Henry read it and help? I don't think so, but it helps _me_ to let it all out. I preferred to talk to someone, though. I was a better talker than a writer. Dean does the same (talk more than write, I mean) except he's _way _more social than I am and he can fit into any situation with ease without making other people uncomfortable (and I've always envied him for it!). I'm usually known as his clumsy, _younger_ sister who sits in the corner and only reads or smiles and laughs. But at the same time, I can be perfectly fine when Dean is there to talk things over or when I was with the one I loved the most, the one now gone from me…

Then again, I shouldn't be comparing myself with my older brother. Sure, he's the only one I interact with (all of our stepbrothers, on both sides – five on Mom's and seven on Dad's – don't talk to us and most are over in Europe anyhow), but I need to outlet more to _somebody_.

I took up my typing again, blowing the wet ink on the first page I took out. This time, I started putting an urgent note into it, the second page being a little more personal.

_I was thinking, Henry, that this camp needs a break sometime. Sure, it's good with the pranks, but (and I am not taking sides or favoring people or anything) I think Majors Burns and Houlihan should have a break once in a while, even if it was some camp event. Also, I want to meet everyone. All I do is work all day and feel sorry for myself. I want to feel like I'm having fun once in a while. Or, at least counter your order. Let me know Captains Pierce and McIntyre. They sound so interesting and so far, have kept me saner with their antics, jokes and pranks. I know you're being WAY too fatherly and making sure the two don't do anything stupid to me or something, but I want you to know that I need to stand on my own two feet. I need to explore by myself. And that's an issue. Parents need to let GO!_

_I don't think I'd understand, since I'm no parent and have no inclinations of becoming one. I'm not a motherly figure and have no maternal feelings (with me now remembering how your mother gave me a doll for Christmas and I hacked the head off with disgust!). But when I feel like I'm being smothered and told who to see and who not to see, I feel controlled. I am TIRED of being controlled. Why do you think I left my mother's house? Why do you think I chose a career that would keep me far, far away from there and keep me super busy as well? I KNOW you don't see my often because of it except when Lorraine lets me in once in a while, but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't live with you and Lorraine and the girls all the time. You wouldn't move out of that house and because of it, the trouble would come over every time I'm over, like always. You had your own family to think about. Where would I fit in? Well, nowhere, pretty much, I'd say._

_But, there's always a way and that way isn't always clear. My mother used to say that to me all the time. But then again, why am I quoting my own mother, the same one who scorned me and wished me dead because I was a girl? I don't know, but it seems to me that she was right, in this sense (I'll admit it, because sometimes the people you don't get along with have some good things to say for once). There's always a way out of things and sometimes, the solution isn't always in sight or there's an obstacle ahead of the path. All we have to do is think more clearly and/or move aside, to reassess the problem, and finally jump over the hurdles. This is why I'm suggesting some of these things._

_Please, think about what I've written, Henry. I want you to know how I feel and also, what I think can be done for these wonderful people we work with, since you think them as such. I want to know them all and figure out why most of them hate me so much and disrespect me. I don't want to walk through a war alone and without a friend out there, save for you and Radar._

_Love, your "Genie"_

I smiled, remembering how Henry used to spell out my name (which made Lorraine laugh so hard once that she choked on the apple she was eating). It might soften him and make him recall the good times, because I'm sure the note will make him mad in some form or another. And, as commanding officer, I'm sure he's more concerned over everything else, _but _morale. However, I can remind him of it and more.

I took the last page out of the typewriter, waiting for the ink to dry. When it was, after a few minutes, I blew on them both for good measure, crossed my fingers and went into Henry's empty office, placing the incriminating documents upon his desk. It's on top, so I'm hoping he reads it soon, if Radar will let him.


	7. Meeting Hawkeye Finally

"I can't believe this, Jeanie! You can't just do that and expect results, especially with little rats running around the camp!"

About a week after I put the note on Henry's desk, he finally caught up with me (with some free time he finally…well, freed up for some odd reason) and was yelling at me about the letter. I knew that I was in deeper trouble than I thought when I was called into his office and told to immediately sit down, without a decent greeting. Not to mention, Henry's face was beet red before he even started yelling at me.

Come to find out later, Radar had, apparently, seen the letter on the desk and wisely kept it from Henry. In the meantime, our C.O. decided that he saw it in Radar's hands at oh-nine hundred in the morning, after a shift in Post-Op with a few nurses VERY early in the morning. Not to mention, Majors Burns and Houlihan saw it and read it, complaining to Henry about it when he came into his office after that particular shift, mostly about the waste of paper for such "personal reasons", seeing everything I had typed in there.

"Sometimes, you have to see things to believe them," I answered smartly, feeling my anger come up, my own blood pressure rising. "Did you read it?"

"Don't give me an attitude!" Henry yelled back, knowing that I was angry about the unfairness of the fight. Waving my thoughts, feeling and suggestions paper, Henry sighed. "Do you see this? Look good and long at it, Jeanie. Your suggestions for the camp – as well as how you feel about everything and everybody in general – are going off in smoke. Majors Houlihan and Burns apparently had read this already and are getting me into loads of trouble for this! General Clayton called me this earlier this morning to ask me about the report they sent over the phone…again…after seeing this silly little waste of paper! This time, they might as well court-martial me! Do you really want that?"

"Why?" I asked, trying to reason with Henry, trying to be fair without yelling back. "This is _my_ folly. I wasted the paper and ink. Why not talk to me about it and punish me accordingly?"

"Because Radar hid it from me and the Majors were kind enough to steal it from him late last night," Henry replied, slamming the papers on his desk and hurting his fist. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead and his hurt hand. "Really, honey? You have to bring up stupid things like this? Don't you have anything better to do in the camp? Don't you have anything that keeps you out of trouble after your shifts?"

I put my feet up on Henry's desk, trying to be a smartass and relax. "Henry, it's not like _you're_ the one who feels the hot water –"

"Get your feet off of my damned desk!" Henry yelled (irritated) as he saw what I did – feet knocking off papers – and I did not care to mend it. For once, I was _mad_ at Henry for calling me into his office and discussing my feelings in such a careless way. Didn't he even _care_ about them?

"Again, Henry," I tried again as I put my feet down, "this isn't your fight. It's mine. And if the Majors want to talk to me about something like this, then that's fine with me because I could seriously care less about them. I just wanted to bring it to _your_ attention, since _you're_ the Commanding Officer here supposedly. Or, _are_ you still the Commanding Officer here? Does Radar still command this camp? Or does Lorraine help you, like she did with the household, even though she's more than a world away? I mean, if she found out that you were going out with the nurses, like Leslie Dish – who, after all, was going after Painless Pole a while back before he went back to the States – she'll be devastated. She's not going to want to help you anymore. In fact, I see a divorce in your future. After all, Lorraine can be a pretty vindictive woman when she wants to be!"

"Don't start with me…" Henry looked like he wanted to growl (he got that way when he was angry enough with me and I knew it) and was going to say something when Hawkeye came into the office without preamble, just opening the doors without asking for permission to enter.

Instead of being in uniform, the Captain was in a red bathrobe, blue sweatpants and bare feet underneath. He didn't even bother to put on his uniform in the morning apparently. His five o'clock shadow was also apparent, which would make Frank Burns go insane.

"Pierce, what do you want?" Our Commanding Officer sighed, knowing he had double the trouble on his hands if some of the Swampmen were around. Even with just Hawkeye, Henry had some trouble on his hands.

Well, Trapper wasn't behind Hawkeye, as I saw as I double-checked my surroundings, so it was a good sign for Henry. Otherwise, he would have had me (irate as hell) and the Captains hotly behind me (obnoxious as hell). It would not have made a good scene.

"I take it I'm interrupting a _very_ important conversation here," Hawkeye answered Henry finally after a few seconds (I assumed that he didn't have coffee), looking at me the whole time, as if he had not seen me before that very moment. "Hello, gorgeous! Am I missing something here, or do my eyes deceive me? Have I stumbled upon a mirage in this desert heat?"

"Pierce, what do you want?" Henry's patience was at the end of its rope and I could tell. He wanted to kill something and it wasn't just me he was pissed with.

"I don't know, Henry," the newly-made Chief Surgeon admitted (in a ceremony a week ago). "I wanted to come in here to ask you for a certain something, like to get a certain _creep_ out of the competent doctors' tent, and then I came upon this pretty –"

I blushed, knowing that Hawkeye was paying attention to me, and Henry noticed it.

"Hands off, Pierce," he said in his fatherly tone as he interrupted the Captain.

"Ahh, do I hear a father's voice?" Hawkeye asked, laughing. "Oh, come on, Dad, let me take her to the prom! Please? Please? Please?" He then processed to jump up and down like a child, being plain obnoxious, even for me. Then again, it's how Hawkeye copes with this place, I guessed.

"Yeah, come on, Dad," I instigated, joining in on the fun, trying to make myself forget how angry I was with Henry and the rest of the camp. "Can I go to the prom with Hawkeye? Please? Please? _Please?_"

"All right, you two!" Henry banged his fist on the desk again, knocking more papers off of it. "Get out of here! It's bad enough Majors Houlihan and Burns are in here all the damned time and writing reports behind my back. Out of here, on the double, NOW! Jeanie, I will talk with you later, so don't think you've gotten away with this. Pierce, just…try to be more military."

"Yeah, sure, Henry," I answered sarcastically as I got out of the chair quickly, knowing that I was putting my toe in some pretty hot water, and walked straight out of the office. I think Hawkeye knew it too, for he stopped jumping up and down and ran out of the office doors with me, laughing his ass off.

"That was some face you gave it, a nice touch to the reply," he said, laughing still and patting me on the back. "Hey, Captain, that was pretty good in there. I take it you know Henry a little ways back?"

I smiled broadly, laughing too. "Yeah," I admitted with ease. "I've known Henry since he was in medical school. I was just a kid and his patient half the time. It's kind of a long story from here to there and back again. Well, I knew his wife and well…he came along for the ride when she was still single and living alone and he wanted to marry her. They lived together, got married, had kids and had a life. I considered myself to be in the background."

"That's Henry, all right." Hawkeye was still laughing pretty hard – there was a twinkle in his blue eyes – and he looked at me with a new set of sight, so it seemed. I was somebody he could talk to and it was easy because I was no nurse who was looking for his attentions, but somebody who was her own woman. I was an equal.

"Yeah…" I had to go and trailed my sentence. Major Houlihan had me on Post-Op duty for the day and I wanted to leave (even though I had seven hours behind me already), but with Hawkeye around to talk to me, it didn't seem like I wanted to. I _wanted_ to be around him and be laughing, joking and be happy. I _wanted_ to be giggling all the time. But, alas, I was no beauty for him, no nurse that he wanted to chase within a whim really. Before that day, he could have glanced at me and know I was not there.

_Or, was I? Did he not care until he saw me alone?_

"I know you've been around these parts for a long time, but I never knew your name," Hawkeye acknowledged after he ceased laughing, as if to break some ice between us as I looked to the doors to Post-Op and the O.R. "What _is_ your name?"

I looked at Hawkeye, thinking for two seconds, and then stood in attention and saluted, as if it was all a mock joke, yelling as I saluted, "Captain Jeanette Karen Morrison, _Sir_! I have Post-Op duty with Major Houlihan and Lieutenant Baker in fifteen minutes. Request permission to leave your sight now, Sir?"

Hawkeye shook his head and put his thumb to his nose, wiggling his fingers and sticking out his tongue in his own mock salute, replying, "You have _my_ permission…Jeanette, I think your name is. Or, did I hear Henry call you Jeanie in there?"

I relaxed. "It's Jeanie. I've always liked to be called that."

"Ok, then…Jeanie, why don't you meet me in the Swamp after your shift tonight?" For once, Hawkeye looked serious. "Don't bring Dad over there. I don't think he'll approve of you going in there. I've been a bad influence with his children apparently. And my track record isn't the greatest."

And with that, Hawkeye – ever the joker, ever the mysterious man – turned around and left me pretty damned quick, walking out the doors and humming a song from long ago and dancing with the next nurse that came within his way (Nurse Cain just pushed him away, his lips trying to kiss her, but missing as she moved away in disgust). I only smiled and shook my head, knowing the truth behind the man.

_Or do I?_ I thought as I walked through the other set of doors to Post-Op.


	8. In the Swamp

Later that night, in-between sipping the Swamp's famous still swine (the gin, made in different variations) from a martini glass and sucking the alcohol from an olive, I laughed like I had never laughed before. It was like Hawkeye was perfect at what he did. He knew when to make me laugh and what stories to tell me. He was, in an interesting way (believe it or not), a perfect gentleman, someone a little older than I am who could talk on the same level as me and make me feel comfortable. Other than Dean, nobody could do that to me.

It was long after midnight when Hawkeye told his last story to me, something about his father in Crabapple Cove, Maine (he had many of those stories strung all together for me, seeing as how the two lived together for so long). Others included childhood memories, school days and being a milk monitor, which was an important position then. He even had a serious moment when telling me about his mother and sister (passed on), writing to his father to send them his love on occasion, when the mood took him.

Afterward, it was quiet for a while. I could hear the crickets singing outside and Hawkeye sipping noisily from his martini glass slowly, as if it were the last glass of alcohol he would ever have. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, he said, "Jeanie, you haven't really said anything about yourself this evening."

"Do you really need to know about me?" I asked, emptying my fourth glass of "swill", as Frank Burns called it earlier.

"I never really noticed you before," Hawkeye admitted honestly, seriously enough. "And this whole time, you've been laughing at everything I've said or looked sympathetic. You're a good listener, but are you a good talker?"

"Do you want me to be serious and truthful?" I took the olive from the bottom of the glass and sucked on it, tasting the bitterness surrounding it. _Damn, this stuff is good._

"Sometimes, I prefer it." Hawkeye got up from his seat (his cot) and took my glass (I was sitting on a chair across from him), refilling it for me at the still by Trapper's cot. Then, after seeing my unspoken thanks, he added, "You seem like a down-to-earth, solemn person. You're too shy around other people and seem to want to open up to someone, if they would listen to you. You have a close relationship with Henry obviously, but he's too busy to notice much of anything these days, especially you. You don't like to speak up, either."

I looked around the Swamp frantically (Trapper and Frank Burns were not around) and wished that nobody else but Hawkeye hear this, seeing as how things get around quickly in a camp like the 4077th. My worries about being overheard were confounded, though, when Hawkeye informed me, as he down with his drink again, that both of his bedmates were out for the night and nobody was likely to listen in on us, since nobody bothers him unless it was an emergency or if some nurse wanted something from him (I almost snickered). Frank was with Margaret (probably arousing his wife's suspicions) and Trapper was in the Supply Room with one of the other nurses (sucking face and confirming _his_ wife's wild conspiracy theories).

I sighed. "There isn't much about me," I started slowly and with hesitation. "I'm a younger twin, my brother Dean is the oldest. My parents divorced when I was young, I think five, and my mother remarried later on and took me and Dean on a wild moving frenzy. Both of them – well, all three of the so-called parental unit – are alcoholics. My stepfather is an ass. My brother was my only companion, really, and…"

I trailed, but then continued, picking up where I left off. I had a sob story going on before long, but I was sure that Hawkeye didn't mind. I mean, he listened to my whole story and encouraged me on a lot of the time every time I stopped, telling me that it was ok to move on, to tell me everything I could. I knew that he was listening to me by his body language when I looked back at him: practically staring at me at eye level, not being distracted by some other trinket or person, whatever. This, most of all, encouraged me to go on. I knew that he would be a true friend.

I was vague at first, but then detailed everything: how Clarence, my own stepfather (who had been chasing me around since he knew me) raped me and impregnated me, but I started a miscarriage at Henry's front door late one night about five months prematurely; how my mother's activities in Church blinded her to her husband's infidelities and what else was really going on, like him trying to control me and Dean; how my own father would argue with my mother and stepfather, making us twins choose sides and hitting us in the face and then beating us when we did not chose his side, me so more than Dean.

I had tears rolling down my face by then, explaining how both Dean and I escaped. I went to nursing school for the military and he went off to just join the military (just like Clarence threatened to do to him, but he went out anyway), just like our father, and fought the Nazis. We were both eighteen years old.

Then, I went into the subject of Lorraine and Henry before Hawkeye could ask me. Lorraine was our neighbor in Bloomington, when we finally settled there and stopped moving away from my father, and she always watched me and Dean, but, as I explained to Hawkeye, she and Henry were also trying to become our guardians because they knew how dysfunctional our lives were. And, when that failed, she and Henry would take turns keeping an eye out for us, trying to help us, even offering to help us in whatever we did. Lorraine home-schooled me for a while, I explained, because half the time I was sick, stressed out and always wondering when my life would end (sometimes, trying to end it myself a few times over). However, very slowly, her ministrations, along with Henry's, helped me to cope and to leave them without a second thought, barely without a goodbye, was hard, but I knew that I had to do it or cling to them forever.

Obviously, Dean and I found our own footing by ourselves (Dean more so than I did), which Henry is still angry about, in a way. Many secrets had to be kept afterward to keep him at bay, to keep him away and to keep the hard feelings away, many of them I wish I could tell someone about. I could not help myself, but I even told Hawkeye things I never told Henry, like when I was West Germany, how I spied on the Soviets under a different name ("It's a lovely country, but the food is lousy sometimes and the Soviets have the best cigarettes," I mentioned) and there was told my duties as a nurse were needed in Korea. I didn't tell him much else, forgetting, of course, the most important force of all when I was in Europe: my lover, my falcon, the one I could never mention.

I calmed down by the end of it, when I explained how I came to the 4077th and how lonely and humiliated I felt with everything and everybody around me, even going as far to explain that my excitement over new assignments was not even there after a while.

"I even wrote to Henry about it," I mentioned. "Radar didn't bother to give it to him after he found it on his desk and tried to hide it because of the personal tone it had, some of it pretty hideous or some people's eyes. The Majors then found it, read it and complained about it instead of punishing me for 'wasting supplies'. Henry was yelling at me in his office about it. And that was when you came in."

I never really told my life story to _anyone_ before. I was afraid to, too reserved and too shy of everybody and what they would think of me if I dis. However, when I looked to Hawkeye, half-expecting him to scoff at me and walk away (even though I knew he was listening), I saw his face: incredulous, full of surprise and disbelief at what had happened. He didn't even drink his swill that he went up to get. Indeed, his hand stood in midair, his glass almost tipping over and spilling. At the last moment, though, he noticed it and took a gulp quickly, as if to forget what I said because it seemed like too much to comprehend, too much to bear almost.

Soon, though, Hawkeye regained his composure, shaking off his last drink. "I'm sorry, Jeanie," was all he said. "I'm sorry for everything."

I shrugged my shoulders, like it was nothing to be sorry about (it wasn't Hawkeye's fault any of this happened, anyhow, so he shouldn't be apologizing). It did feel like nothing, though.

"Hawkeye, it's been a long time since it's happened," I only replied. "It's not anything you can help with. I guess I just needed someone's ear."

But the doctor shook his head, unbelieving still. "If there's anything I can do for you, you know you can come to me."

Hawkeye then took another gulp of swill, showing me his true face, if only for a moment: tired, depressed and desperate. For what he was desperate for, I could not tell. But he looked like he needed help and humor was his only way of coping if he could not get that help. All of the jokes he said or the pranks he pulled were things to keep him sane from an insane place. I felt sorry for him instead of myself. Just his face put a lot into perspective for me. What a pity party I've been!

Rising and gulping down my fifth glass quickly, I sighed. "And you know you can do the same thing," I whispered, knowing that Hawkeye heard me (he nodded his head to tell me he heard) and would, most likely, do it. He knew already that I was a good listener.

Hawkeye finally got up and put his glass down on some sort of nightstand (his footlocker). "Do you want me to walk you back to your tent?" he then asked, knowing that it was time to do so (and knowing that he probably didn't need to ask me anyway, but just needed something to get a conversation going because the moment seemed awkward).

After all, just telling each other heavy stories, it seemed right to go to bed and to sleep it off. And my heart was already so heavy from holding his grief and mine.

Without even answering him and hearing my own wistful sigh once more – and just watching my face all evening – he knew that I was, slowly, falling in love with him. I didn't know it then (I only knew that I liked Hawkeye very, very much), but it showed. It took some time for me to notice it, though, and when I did, I felt kind of stupid, I admit.

I got up, putting my empty martini glass down, and walked over to Hawkeye and took his arm, the two of us entwined together as we went out of the Swamp's door and ambled to the nurses' tent a little ways down, the smell and mess of the Swamp slowly disappearing from my senses. I started to miss it, but, then again, I knew that I was going back there again.

However, at the door of my quarters (after a quiet walk, watching the night creatures of the camp on the way there) Hawkeye and I separated from our tangled arms. I was about to open the door quietly – not disturbing the sleeping nurses inside – when Hawkeye stepped in front of me and closed it with a loud _bang_. I was going to protest this and mention how the nurses hate me already and would complain to Major Houlihan is they knew it was me that was the cause of that noise. And he _knew_ this and put a finger to my lips, as if to shush me.

I savored his finger on my lips – the soft touch tingled my body, sending shivers down of my spine – and was tempted to bite back, but did not because of that wonderful feeling running up and down my body. Instead, I looked his eyes, searching for something in those blue blobs of love, trying to understand why I was chosen to be his companion for the night, but nothing was there except for a deep, dark pool I can swim in easily. I was trapped. I was going to be _forever_ trapped in his blue eyes.

Then, without me knowing how or why and with me staring so intently into his eyes, Hawkeye took me into his arms and kissed me: passionately, hotly and with so much feeling that it took my breath away. He did it so quickly that I didn't know that it happened until I felt his soft lips on mine. And it was so _amazing_, me not believing what had happened. I couldn't understand it, but somehow, it made sense to me, this doctor kissing me in front of my quarters' door.

Suddenly, though, Hawkeye left me in suspense, left me in utter breathlessness, breaking off all of the sensual feelings I had, as he broke off.

My God, I could not believe it. And all I could do was watch him walk back to the Swamp, only a minute away from me, disbelieving of the whole night and how it all happened.


	9. Embarrassment in the Mess Tent

It seemed like I was walking on Cloud Nine for days after that kiss. I worked on my duties, with Henry on my back suddenly (paying oh-so-much attention to me), wondering why I was happy and smiling all the time. However, seeing me with Hawkeye around me pissed Henry off more, but it silenced him. I was happy and he could nothing to change it. He even saw me smile when Hawkeye was in the room – even when we were in the O.R. and trying to save lives – and made no effort to separate us, despite his broad hints that we should.

However, I could see why Henry was angry: betrayal. I'm like a daughter to him and Hawkeye is supposed to be his best friend. I knew that the men of the camp (especially Hawkeye and Trapper and, before they left, Ugly John, Spearchucker Jones and Duke), are mostly younger than Henry by a decade or so and consider the Commanding Officer to be one of them, despite his own efforts to get them to be serious. But now, when Henry sees me with one of the pranksters of the camp, it makes him feel old and bitter sometimes. He couldn't let me go, couldn't let me out of his eye, and it was on the person he was supposed to see as a friend that took me away.

On the other hand (on my side), it made me satisfied being at the 4077th, knowing that life seemed complete somehow (even when I wanted to be alone), and went through everything as if through a new pair of eyes. I appreciated it – knowing Hawkeye was helping me all the way – and felt happier than ever before. My "newfound love" (as I tried to deny to myself) introduced me to more people and places, my new sight letting me see them for who they were for the first time. I was amazed, even when most just scoffed and walked away.

As a dismal September turned into a golden October and everybody complained about the cold weather coming already (we had some cold nights already and the stoves were on full blast), I still considered myself lucky to be on such good terms with Hawkeye and did not see him with any nurse but me, despite Trapper trying to get him interest once more in chasing them. He invited me often to his table at the Mess Tent, asked me to come to the Swamp in the evenings and danced with me in the Officers' Club when we were built one (after Hawkeye's time with Trapper in Tokyo, of course). It made me feel special, that I was being shown extraordinary favor, but I knew that I was also enraging some of the other nurses who loved Hawkeye. I was sure to be confronted either, but at the time, I did not care. I was happy finally.

All during this, I started to get to know Trapper too. He didn't talk to me much when Hawkeye and I were in the Swamp together laughing, but I learned that he had not only a wife, but also two daughters in Boston. This, however, did not stop him from eying me after another nurse went her way and he had empty arms again. He always stared at me when Hawkeye was not looking or would try to be more gentlemanlike than his tentmate. I knew, sometime later, that the two were going to fight over me and it would be brief. Don't ask me how I knew. It was just a feeling. I had a lot of those and knew that they were always true.

That night came soon enough, about in the middle of October. It also became one of the most humiliating moments of my life as well.

At the Mess Tent on that fateful night, while dinner was being served (and I had Post-Op duty within the half hour with Major Houlihan and wanted a quick bite to eat with Hawkeye), I stood at the ancient green Army coffee urn, filling my cup of what was supposed to be coffee (I think). I looked into the cup was it was being filled – the color of the liquid seemed to go from black to grey in moments – and walked away with my tray, intent on sitting with Hawkeye, like I had for the past few weeks.

Events, however, continued to conspire against me.

"So-ho, you're the little filly that Hawkeye has been talking about these days! I've been seeing you ride around the Swamp too."

Before I even got to my seat on the other side of the tent (I could already see Hawkeye waiting for me, very impatient and obviously seeing my obstacle), I bumped right into Trapper, spilling a little coffee on my tray, over what looked like mashed potatoes. I didn't care about the mixture, but that I had just bumped into someone.

My face immediately took to a shade akin to brick red and I felt it.

"Why don't you come and sit with _me_?" Trapper then took my arm on the right and led to me to the table where he usually sat with Hawkeye (the latter was still waiting there for me, annoyed as he was with the former's familiar moves on me). However, before I knew it (or could utter a word of protest, I should say), I had Hawkeye on the other side of my, trying to _also_ guide me to the same table.

"I think the Captain is with me, Trap," Hawkeye said urgently, moving in to the left and pulling me in the same direction, causing me to spill some more of my coffee out and then some food onto the floor. That time, though, it all landed on my boots.

"No, no, good Sir, I think the Captain is with _me_." Trapper moved me to the right, causing more of my coffee and food to be spilled onto the floor.

I wanted to say something, to make the two shut up and let me decide where I wanted to sit (Hawkeye knew where I wanted to be and I didn't mind Trapper sitting with us usually), but I didn't have the chance, of course. That or I wasn't being forceful enough. Either way, I, too, was being an idiot.

"Well, well, Trap, I think you did not hear of Captain Morrison here gracing our quarters with me this past month," Hawkeye replied, knowing very well that Trapper had and even said so to my face.

"Oh, but no, Hawkeye," Trapper lied, yanking me more to the right. "I saw her first in line here. I heard nothing of an affair of the heart, dear Sir."

"Hawkeye…Trapper…" I started, but the noise between the two – and in the tent – seemed to have drowned out my voice. I was becoming the rope in a tug-of-war match between the two doctors and I _still_ couldn't get any control of the situation.

"Jeanie, what's going on here?"

Ah, a man that could have saved me! Before Hawkeye and Trapper could argue or pull on me anymore, Henry was before us, coming out of the line with his own tray of food and cup of coffee, asking what in hell's name I was doing, sandwiched between two doctors, who were obviously arguing over who was sitting with me.

"Henry, I – I can explain –"

Before I could say anymore, Trapper pulled me hard to the right again, causing me to lose my grip on dinner entirely. Within a second, I lost my food – and my appetite – right on my boots and pants, causing me to almost trip and fall on the slime (and, naturally, missing Trapper and Hawkeye) on my own food and feet, clumsy me.

I heard a few snickers here and there (nothing more than the usual to me), but the talking in the Mess Tent continued, regardless. Hawkeye, on one hand, continued to hold onto me, before I tripped and fell (and thus, embarrassing myself even more). Trapper, on the other hand, finally gave up, knowing that Henry was giving him an evil eye after I tried explaining myself. Hawkeye ignored it as Henry turned it to him, knowing what it meant, and refused to back down from holding me.

"Pierce…" Henry started, giving me and Hawkeye another warning look.

"It's not anything you should worry about, Henry," Hawkeye replied as he let go of me, knowing that I finally had my balance.

"It usually means the opposite, Pierce," Henry retorted back, putting his trap on a table and his hands on his hips, stubborn and angry-looking to me.

"Ah, Henry, leave him alone," I added to the defense, ignoring the smell from my pants and boots. "It's not like Hawkeye is doing anything wrong here. I just –"

"Ha, take that, Pierce!" A random male voice was suddenly heard on the other end of the Mess Tent, silencing the whole company of people there suddenly (it was usually rare, but it happened when something important was going to happen). Finally, something _creaked_ for a few seconds and then…

_SPLAT!_

Something splattered on me instead of Hawkeye (he missed him entirely as he jumped away, hearing, just in time, the drop of _something_) and I knew it as soon as my thick head of hair felt the first of the creepy graying substance. _Dammit! Whoever did this missed Hawkeye and got me instead. Is this bad aiming or what?_

I could not see. I could not move. I could not breathe really. I felt like I was put into cement, so immobile I felt in all that…_stuff_. I even _smelled_ funny, like old food from the garbage in the back of the camp. And come to find out, it _was_ the old food from the garbage in the back of the camp that caked my body.

All I could hear – if I could call it hearing – was total _dead_ silence, without a cricket making a noise even. Then, someone snickered at me again and muffled a laugh behind their hands. Soon enough, though, the whole tent exploded in laughter. I knew that a spark started the fire…and that spark, over in the corner pulling some lever to dump the garbage on me, started the fire called laughter. And he was going to pay for it someday for it.

By then, I had lifted my arms up, with difficulty, and wiped the gunk off of my face, seeing fingers being pointed at me and hearing cat calls being whistled in my honor. Only Trapper, Hawkeye and Henry looked in, shocked and even surprised at what happened.

I felt _horrified_ and _embarrassed_! The feelings of it were so bad that I went to work my legs pretty fast – to get the hell out of the Mess Tent in utter disgrace – and it took a few minutes, but I finally was able to walk out of the pile of gooey garbage and get out. By the time I reached the doors of the Mess Tent, trailing smelly, old garbage food behind me, I was running at my fastest speed, which was pretty damned quick. After years of running from people, I learned the meaning the _fast_.

I knew that I had twenty minutes to get to Post-Op (maybe less) and that Major Houlihan was not going to be pleased with me being late, so I hurried to get clean. I ran, as quickly as I could make my legs move, to the nurses' showers on the other side of the camp and pushed the women out of the line there, trying to get in and wash the smell and grim off of me. It was unsanitary to be in Post-Op with it on, for one thing. Another thing was the embarrassment factor. And I didn't know which was going to worse for me.

"Get out of my way!" I yelled, trying to ignore the protests of women who just needed to wash their hair, shave themselves and rinse the minor dirt the camp gave them. I thought that I was more important at the moment than they were.

Grabbing a stall as I pushed my way in, I turned the hot water all the way on, not taking my uniform off and ignoring the sting and steam of the heat. But, however much I scrubbed, though, I was not successful in getting the gunk – not to mention, the smell – off of me. All I succeeded in doing making myself a bigger mess than I already was and making more nurses angry and driving those, who were already showering, away, not finishing their nightly routine and complaining about it. I guessed that the smell drove them out.

I sighed. _This is going to take a long time to get rid of. And I'm going to kill whoever did this to me._

~00~

"Major, it couldn't be helped," I heard Henry say as I entered Post-Op, ten minutes late for my shift, dressed, malodorous and ready for my shift. "Captain Morrison probably ran off to the showers to clean off. It takes a lot of time to get rid of the garbage and smell. As for Major Burns, I want an apology from him. I'm sure he didn't mean for it to happen to Captain Morrison and had meant to get Pierce, but at the same time –"

"Captain Morrison!" Major Houlihan exclaimed as she saw me sneaking around behind Henry and sitting on a bed and working on a patient. She wrinkled her nose at the smell I surely made (hell, I was clean enough, but the smell stayed). "Where have you been? You were supposed to be here twelve minute ago. Captain Pierce was supposed to –"

"Now, what was that, Major?" Suddenly, Henry was on top of Major Houlihan, hearing every word and catching onto things quickly again (just as I knew him to do!). "Captain Pierce was supposed to get the old food that Captain Morrison got instead? So, were you and Major Burns plotting your _revenge_?"

"Colonel, Sir," Major Houlihan nervously replied as she hung a clipboard on a bed and turned to face him, "with all due respect, I can honestly say that it was Major Burns' idea and that I only knew of it. I had no part in this little scheme of his." Turning to me at the bed working (and trying not to eavesdrop), she added, "Captain Morrison, you're excused from being late to your shift. Next time it happens, you will be severely punished. As for Major Burns…on his behalf, I will apologize to you for him."

The Major said the last sentence with clenched teeth. And it thrilled me inside to see her stoop down to that level.

Henry only crossed his arms at her apology to me, turning to talk to me. "There, now, Captain, the matter will be fixed by tomorrow morning. Major Burns will be appropriately punished for this and –"

"Colonel, what about Pierce and McIntyre? _They_ are the ones who do it all the damned time and get away with –" Major Houlihan stomped her foot, as if in a temper tantrum, ignoring the fact that patients were around (it was unusually unprofessional of her). "Those two are ruining this war…for every one of us! You can let them get away with this anymore!"

"And you're right, of course, Major," Henry replied soothingly as he turned back to her. "Pierce and McIntyre will be lectured u-upon tomorrow, as well. In fact, I think I want a meeting with the usual gang. I want you, Major Burns and all three Captains in my office at oh-nine hundred tomorrow."

I noticed the light stutter Henry had (scared of Major Houlihan sometimes, I'm sure). Then, I even heard a mumble from the Head Nurse about how ineffective Henry was as a Commanding Officer, but let it go when he asked her if everything was "hunky-dory" and all right.

"Oh, just fine, Colonel," she replied, giving me a quick stink-eye as I gave my patient a sponge bath with supplies from under the bed. "I'll tell Major Burns when I see him later this evening. We'll be there at oh-nine hundred sharp."

"Or much earlier," Henry muttered to himself as he left Post-Op.

I sighed again as Henry left, ignoring the Head Nurse as I went back to work. _This is going to be one long night,_ I thought. _I hope Hawkeye can stop by. I like it when he does…_


	10. Confrontation

_October 31, 1950  
The 4077__th,__ Korea to the 47__th,__ Tokyo_

_Dear, dear, dear Dean,_

_So, you've finally made it to Asia! You're in Tokyo right now, as I've been told, and one more step away from hell (also known as Korea, making sure we're on the same page here). I heard you're going to be near my unit, the 4077__th__, so I am relieved, in some way, because we'll be near each other without our duties in the way, of course (and you're sure to be guarding the unit, since we're so close to the Front Lines, if you're not going to be looking at the North Koreans and Chinese in the face). It's a salve over a deep wounded covered in salt and it comforts me. Yes, I bet you're cringing right now (sorry for reminding you of that time when Clarence…oh, never mind) because you know how it feels. However, I hope that something can be done soon, so we could be together and you could meet Hawkeye, who I told you lots about._

_Today is Halloween, as you know, and tonight, the Officers' Club is hosting a party, courtesy of the enlisted men who went through all the trouble of decorating for the first real American holiday away from home. Hawkeye is taking me there, thank God, so I don't have to worry about sitting here in my tent all night, listening to the other nurses in my tent talk about their night out the next morning. I would have felt worse, nonetheless, but I think it's almost worse that they're jealous of me. Already, some of the other nurses confronted me, telling me to stay away from Hawkeye, but he's smoothed that over when he overheard them trying to push me around (ah, the Mess Tent is a wonderful place sometimes!). He's such a charmer, sometimes, and I know it best of all._

_Dean, I know what you're going to say: he's a heartbreaker, a womanizer. For sure, Hawkeye might as well be. However, he's kind to me and has helped me in many ways. He's introduced me to so many people and I'm being talked to sometimes, if they like me. It's what I wanted, but at the same time, I feel overwhelmed by so many people, like Trapper (who has finally accepted me as Hawkeye's "special friend" and will talk to me as a friend), talking to me. It's amazing, though. And I'm always looking forward to it at times._

_And no, my worried older brother, nothing has happened between us. I mean, Hawkeye hasn't been dating the other nurses and has bothered me all the time, every single day. No, he just insists I help him all the time in the O.R., bothers me when I'm on Post-Op duty and he doesn't and has even asked me for a weekend in Tokyo with him. Of course, Henry isn't going to allow that (we tried), so I guess it's ok…except I want it. I love Hawkeye, Dean, and I can't help myself. If his feelings are the same, I don't know, but it sure looks like it unless Hawkeye is a pretty good actor. It remains to be seen._

_Anyhow…you wanted to know what happened in Henry's office after the incident in the Mess Tent, when Major Burns dumped old food on me instead of Hawkeye, to get back at him for all that was done to him and Major Houlihan. Remember I told you that, in Post-Op, Henry told me and Major Houlihan that we were supposed to meet in his office and discuss what was going on in camp? Yes, so, the meeting was at oh-nine hundred hours (too early, I know!) and all of us were there: me, Henry, Hawkeye and Trapper (both in their bathrobes), Majors Burns and Houlihan, Klinger (yes, THAT Klinger who dresses in dresses!) and Father Mulcahy._

_Well, Henry went into one of his usual lectures about how we should be treating each other with respect and dignity, since we ARE, of course, in a M*A*S*H unit, three miles from the Front Lines, which is what we can all agree on (because we're all supposed to be professionals). However, what we shouldn't – and couldn't – agree on is where to cross the line and how to leave each other alone, even if something, like the relationship between the Majors, IS the camp's biggest joke._

_Father Mulcahy started. "I think, Colonel, that if we cooperated and appreciated each others' feelings, like you said, then we might have the opportunity to follow what you're saying."_

_Klinger, in one of his outfits (I can't say dress, but I guess you can, in this case) – dressed as Dorothy from _The Wizard of Oz_ with a toy Toto in a basket – had his rifle in one corner of his office (he was patrolling last night) and stood next to me, puzzled. "I would have to agree with Father Mulcahy," he added, "but that's about it. I have no idea why I'm asked to be here."_

"_You're still the daughter I never had, Klinger," Hawkeye commented as Klinger beamed. "I just asked Henry if you could come with me."_

"_Wait, I thought Klinger was _my_ daughter," Trapper chimed in._

_By then, Major Houlihan, who had been sitting in the seat next to Major Burns, stood up and stomped her feet in yet another temper tantrum. "You see, Colonel Blake! Do you see this insubordination? This is the kind of respect we get here as officers."_

"_It's not like a lot of people care," I said quietly from my corner of the office, far away from people. "Major, we're three miles from the Front Lines. We're going to crack if we don't do insane things to keep us sane and smile, even when we can't do it. I know you're trying to cope as best as you can with Major Burns in your tent every night. However, if you keep this gun-ho Army regulation cock o' muley on us, you're gonna realize that it's not going to work here."_

_It was the longest speech I ever made to someone, Dean. I felt proud of myself (even Henry was smiling with a father's pride again) even as I saw Major Houlihan's lips turn to a retort, about to release her deadly sting. However, it was Major Burns behind her that yelled at me._

_Standing behind his little lover from his seat, Major Burns yelled, "Captain Morrison! Need I remind you, as an officer of this fine U.S. Army, that you yourself show respect to your superior officers? As a 'draftee', and a fine military woman, you should know better. According to your records, you've been in this Man's Army since December of 1940. That should give you AMBLE time to learn that respect –"_

"_Frank, can it!" Henry interrupted finally, also annoyed both Majors possibly went through records again…behind his back._

_As Klinger moved out of the office with Father Mulcahy behind him – the former had K.P. Duty and the latter had confessions to hear, as we figured, or they just left to stay out of the arguments coming up shortly – Major Houlihan finally exploded without Frank Burns making her shut up. "Colonel Blake, as far as I can concerned, you should have control over this childish, scheming, little –"_

"_Hold your tongue, Major!" Henry did not want to hear of me being spoken so callously, I guessed, because he looked furious, knowing who she was referring to. "I've known Captain Jeanette Morrison since she was child and later, when she entered the U.S. Army. She's an honorable officer and a fine nurse. Now, I don't understand what your beef with her is, but whatever it is, get over it."_

_Major Burns was about to say something, but Hawkeye got there first. "Oh, come off of it, you two. Captain Morrison has nothing against anybody –"_

"_I shouldn't talk, Pierce," Burns interrupted hotly. "I look at you and McIntyre in disgust and am just thoroughly through with –"_

"_Frank, if you continue to talk like that, I'll be bumming you down –" Henry started._

"_Colonel, I should not talk, if I were you!" Major Houlihan countered, the first person not to be interrupted by someone within those few seconds. But then, soon afterward, she, Major Burns, Henry, Hawkeye and Trapper stood up and started to argue about everything in the camp while I stood to one side: the unknown, quiet person in the corner once more._

_Dean, I thought Father Mulcahy and Klinger were the smart ones. They left before Henry could say anything to them or they got involved in something, although, I must say, the two are beautifully wonderful and won't cause much trouble. Well, Klinger is another story, but that's beside the point. I'll tell you about his last escape effort – flying out of the camp in a hang-glider in an outrageous outfit – later. It's too funny for words!_

_Well, anyhow, everybody argued about everything under the sun. While Henry moderated and reminded everybody of everything (values and professionalism), Majors Burns and Houlihan cited military regulation while Trapper and Hawkeye cited practical and things of common sense. I didn't quite follow along (I was too amused for words and sat back to watch the action), but when Major Houlihan said of me a few minutes later, "She's a bumbling idiot of a nurse who knows nothing of her profession and will step in the way of the wounded being healed."_

_Then, after that statement, there seemed to be silence. Dean, I mean, everybody stopped arguing and stared at her, even Frank Burns. The crickets even stopped chirping, I swear._

_When hearing this, my face turned beet red. I knew Major Houlihan was talking about me and it made everybody stop dead in their tracks because even they all knew it wasn't true. They all looked at me, wondering what I was going to do because my face went from red from feeling embarrassment to white from feeling murderous. And because of this (they all seen it), Major Burns went in front of Major Houlihan, to protect her in some way, and Hawkeye ran to my side, restraining me as I jumped towards the Major, angry as hell. I was about ready to fight._

"_I've been a nurse since 1945, Major, despite what the records say about me," I yelled as Hawkeye pulled my arms back in a twist. "I've been considered to be one of the greatest there was, working in Washington, D.C. That was why I was transferred here. Hell, I was so good that the U.S. Army sent me to West Germany, at the border of East and West in Berlin, and made me a spy, to make me forget what I saw in the civilian hospitals for military personnel. And you're telling me that I'm a 'bumbling idiot' and –"_

"_Jeanie, that's enough!" Henry interjected into the rant and stopped me as I continued to struggle against Hawkeye, still trying to kill the Head Nurse for her nonsensical comments. "Ok, here's what's going on from now on. Burns, you and Houlihan can continue your relationship and stop spying behind my back, for all I care. McIntyre and Pierce, try to cut down on the jokes. And Morrison, stop your complaining and cool your jets. You're all dismissed!"_

_By then, we were scrambled, the Majors out first, before I could kill someone (them, I was more aiming for). Hawkeye and Trapper basically took me back to the Swamp – their messy tent, remember, Dean – and got me drunk silly on their swill from the still before I could even think of committing another offense that could get us in deep trouble. I don't remember anything else from that day, it was so blurry, but later that evening, I sobered enough for the incoming wounded (Hawkeye took me to the male showers and got me sobered up quickly, I was so bad), which would have sobered me anytime of the day._

_Damn, Dean, this is the longest I've ever written! I've taken four breaks, at least, to write this all down for you and to keep you updated on everything. I'm sure you're proud of me (haha) and would love to hear more from me, in person. I can't wait until your next tour of war, which sounds strange (it sounds strange to me even), but I miss you too much. I missed you in Germany and I miss you now, no matter what. And I bet Henry will be pleased to see you again, as well!_

_Your loving sister, Jeanie_


	11. Eavesdropping in the Office

After another grueling day in the O.R. (our Halloween party had almost been cancelled, but the wounded load was light, a first in weeks, but, for sure, to change soon), Radar and I kneeled in front of Henry's office, listening to him, once more, talk to Headquarters about something. This time, though, he was asking about a new surgeon, one that could lighten the load of every other doctor in the camp. There were four in the camp (there used to be six), so to ask for another would help us dramatically.

I heard this from Radar, my own little spy who told me everything that Henry was doing. I gained his trust enough – even from the beginning – and, because I knew Henry longer than Radar, it made him look up to me more, asking me questions and confining in me. Henry seemed to have rubbed something of himself off on me and my aura was somewhat like his to Radar was what I figured (well, he said something about me being a little like Henry and I took it as a compliment). I guess what Radar meant was that I was trustworthy, a good listener, sympathetic, etc.

Somehow, this made me feel very proud of myself – after all, Radar was eighteen years old and not self-assured in himself – to be one of his confidants, after Hawkeye, Henry and even at times Trapper. However, I turned this trust into some sort of game after Radar insisted on me helping him: find out what news he can from Henry and tell me about it so we could listen in together. In that way, Radar and I became partners-in-crime and we were caught together if Henry happened to open his door and see us (one of us could take the blame, so I could take it all from Radar, so he doesn't get into more trouble). It made Radar a little more daring, albeit still a little naïve (I even caught him peeking into a hole in the nurses' showers), and me a little prouder.

"Yes, General, I am sure that we need a new surgeon here at the 4077th." Henry was about to stutter something else, but remained silent, replying afterward, "Yes, yes, Sir, our Chief Surgeon suggested it as well, oh, yes, Hawkeye – no, Sir, it's Captain Pierce. He said it would possibly cut down on the strain each doctor has when the wounded come and there would be less time in triage if someone else came here."

"Is this it, Radar?" I hissed, neither impressed nor surprised. "Is this all the news that you have for us? Henry wants a new surgeon for the 4077th? It seems like Hawkeye suggested it, so says Henry. Then again, it would explain why he didn't seem too surprised when you announced it at the Swamp."

"Captain McIntyre also knew of the request and supported it too," Radar replied quietly, putting a finger to his lips to silence me as Henry spoke louder.

I rolled my eyes (those two doctors kept everything from me sometimes, camp business that we all could use) and went silent again when I heard Henry protest, as if whining, "But, Sir, Majors Burns and Houlihan also agreed with this assessment…"

"And they did," Radar added in a whisper.

"…which tells me that this unit is in sore need of some new hands and we need it fast and…"

I was sure Henry was smiling in his argument with whichever General about a new doctor, as he usually did when he felt he had the upper hand. And it did seem like he had the upper hand. His argument was sound, strong.

A lengthy silence afterward meant anything (and me wistfully thinking that Henry had something for us for once) and it left me and Radar in suspense and wishing for more. We put our ears closer to the doors – silently praying for some sort of a solution to the phone call – when we heard a voice behind us ask, "What are you two doing there?"

Both Radar and I jumped up from our positions at the door and turned around, half-expecting Majors Houlihan and/or Burns behind us. Instead, we saw the new person at the camp, Nurse Kellye, standing behind us, smiling broadly, and looking like she was ready for a Post-Op shift with Major Houlihan. She held a clipboard and was in a white "lab coat" (well, it's what I call them, smartass I am) and Army pants and boots.

I sighed with some frustration, not knowing if she was working with Major Houlihan and was going to report us. So, I decided that honesty was the best policy, for some stupid reason. I might as well tell her the truth.

"Radar and I are waiting for Colonel Blake," I admitted weakly, putting my hands behind my back, as if I were the child caught with her hands in the cookie jar. "Radar here heard about some new surgeon coming possibly and he came to tell me. We usually stay here and listen in to Colonel Blake's conversations and scram when he comes out of his office or somebody catches us."

Radar looked like he wanted to _kill_ me when I admitted our crimes (he exchanged looks with me and his was murderous, which was hilarious, to say the least), but Nurse Kellye only laughed. She really thought it was _funny_ that we eavesdropped on Henry, apparently, and said so, adding, "If I could, I would join you, but I've always been watched by Major Houlihan all the time, ever since I came here. And I'm not as quick as others when trying to play innocent. I'm always caught every time. But, I'm slowly catching on. In this place, you need it."

I smiled, relaxing. Radar did the same, but then immediately went back to the door when Henry was heard whooping in his office, jubilant about something (most likely getting his way), and then he became silent again, probably being told to shut up by some General on the other end of the phone. Kellye and I laughed (about Henry and Radar for me, but I didn't know which she was laughing about) and then smiled at each other, understanding each other for only a moment, a moment I savored.

"I don't really see you around these parts," I said to this new nurse, words I heard Hawkeye say to me when he first started talking to me.

"I'm new here," Kellye replied confidently, shrugging her shoulders with indifference. "I was shipped here a few days ago. I'm in one of the nurses' tents on the other end of the camp."

"Don't I know the feeling of being new," I replied, smiling a bigger grin at this friendly nurse (at last, it seemed, there was one!). "I've gotten the others going through my things in my footlocker, calling me names and pointing their fingers at me when something bad happens to me. Worse, I'm hanging out with the camp's skirt-chaser and they're all jealous and confronting me about it, like I broke their hearts or something. It does seem like I did it on purpose."

"Oh, Hawkeye Pierce," Kellye laughed, tipping her head back, which caught my attention first. Another was Kellye's way of seeing things immediately and paying attention to detail, especially to names (and she had been at the 4077th for only a few days!). "He's one of those, all right. He hardly gives me any attention and I think it's good for now. But, one of these days, he needs to realize how valuable some of us are."

"What do you mean?" I asked just as Kellye looked at the watch on her wrist.

"Oh, I have to go!" she gasped, almost dropping her clipboard with fright. "Major Houlihan will put me on bed arrest if I'm late again, like she did to Nurse Cain the other day, remember?" She paused, taking in a breath. "Oh, what's your name? Maybe we can see each other in the Mess Tent later, for dinner, if you don't have a shift."

"Jeanie," I called out to Kellye as she ran through the double-doors that were next to Radar's cot, going in the direction that led to Post-Op.

I then had a thought, a theory really. I followed behind Kellye and then looked after her as the door swung and peeked through them. I saw the good Major Houlihan yelling and pointing her finger at poor Kellye, who was almost cringing and wanting to go into a corner.

_I guess that I'm not only one. Hell, I remember those days so well, when I was always lost and always yelled at by Major Houlihan. Hopefully, it'll end soon enough with this Reign of Terror. I stood my ground and I hope the others do too. She knows where the lines are and where she can put her Regular Army boots. If she crosses them, I have people behind me who are willing to get my butt out of a sling. However, Major Houlihan asking me to do things for her is strange enough. I mean, asking me to search through files? What's up there?_

A moment later – turning away from the scene between Kellye and Major Houlihan before I was caught again – I went back to join Radar, who pushed me back as I came back, hissing, "He's coming out now. Look busy!"

I did it quickly, going for a filing cabinet (as if to look for a file, like I was asked to by a certain Head Nurse) and looking busy as Henry came out of his office, smiling and looking like he won the biggest fight of his life (or, I should say, the biggest fish of the day, since he likes fishing in the stream by the camp). Radar had, by that time, returned to his desk by the P.A. system, looking busy filling out paperwork and readying everything for Henry to sign again, things he barely looks at.

"Radar, I have some good news!" Henry seemed to have yelled (his voice was pretty loud). "We are going to have a new surgeon to come to the 4077th. I want you to get some paperwork for one Major Daniel Simmons, M.D."

Radar didn't recite the orders at the same time as Henry (which seemed like a first to me, a rare occurrence), but immediately went from one pile of paperwork to another, taking more forms out of a cabinet by me as he got up and filling them out when he reached the desk again. I assumed that they were for this new doctor, this Major Daniel Simmons.

Henry then turned to go back into his office, but noticed me by the filing cabinet, stopping before he went back to work. "Jeanie, what are you doing here?" he then asked me, looking puzzled. "This has been the third time you've been at that filing cabinet this week. Is there something I should be aware of? Or, are you in need of some help?"

I looked up from my "work" and sighed. "It's nothing, Henry, really," I replied quietly. "I'm just looking up something for Major Houlihan. She asked me to do some things, oddly enough."

It wasn't quite a lie and I didn't feel guilty about it – I've used that same filing cabinet before, to cover up my eavesdropping – because the Major had asked me to look into some people's files, since I have the skills to do it with secrecy (it surprised me, like she was admitting that I had more power than she did). I didn't like it, but used it as an excuse often enough.

"Trying to recruit spies of her own," Radar mumbled, remembering what I asked him to say: plant in Henry's mind about Major Houlihan's schemes and try to get her to stop it, which will make she want me to do it more. But it'll give me an excuse if Henry goes over _her_ head.

"I heard that, I heard that!" Henry started to pace the office space and stopped in front of me again after the third run back and forth, making me nervous. "You've been a spy and it's well-known, Jeanie, because it's in your file and you have security clearance to be here. But I'd be careful, if I were you."

"As if I don't know that, Henry," I answered tartly, being the smartass again.

"Then why aren't you ignoring Major Houlihan?" Henry scratched his head.

"Because sometimes, Henry, it's better to obey than to argue," I replied, pulling up a file (I didn't know which one and I didn't care). "You should know that, as well. But, anyhow, a change of topic here: I give my congratulations on securing us that new surgeon. I'm sure Trapper and Hawkeye will be pleased."

Henry mumbled something about Hawkeye (they were friends, but I was sure, still, that Henry hated him going after me and vice versa), but let it go, asking, "Are you still seeing Pierce?"

I was getting angrier by the moment and tired of Henry being the parent again. "I see him almost daily and I can't help it, Henry. So, listen, _Dad_, I'm ok. I'm not taking time out in the Supply Room, if that makes you feel better. I drink in the Swamp, I dance at the Officers' Club and that's about it. Oh, and I get walked back to my tent every night. Do you want to know anything else? Need to hold our hands when we walk?"

I could tell Radar was listening in on us (his ears were perked up), but, Henry, of course, did not care for privacy, almost exploding at my comments. "Jeanie, you've been a pain in the BUTT lately and I'm getting a little tired of the attitude. You've been dangerously close a few times to be court-martialed and it's not like you. I've never seen you like that before. I am proud you stood up for yourself, but am _not_ pleased with the attitude you've been giving me."

"Maybe if you'd stop picking your nose, I'll sit down and talk with you civilly and like a human being, if there is such thing," I replied hotly. "In this place called 'hell', I never know. You seem too busy to care, to lift up a finger even!"

"Is that what's been bothering you?" Henry yelled back at me, incredulous at such a concept. I didn't care, though. Giving him an attitude was the only way to get his attention, apparently, and I played it well, showing how mad I was.

"Yes!" I screamed back, not caring about the patients in Post-Op and how unprofessional I was being. "And everything else you've –"

"Choppers," Radar interrupted quietly, running for the door to pass on the news of incoming wounded once more, yelling it out louder, leaving the door open for us to hear him.

"I don't hear anything," Henry commented within Radar's earshot, ignoring me – and the situation – once more.

"Listen for them!" Radar yelled back at him – coming back towards us – as the sound of choppers filled my ears within a moment it was said.

But before Henry ran out behind Radar, he finally turned back to me, finding me going out the door behind Radar. I wanted to ignore Henry for a little while, let off some steam and calm down (I didn't have to work with him in the O.R.), and try to talk with him again about this stupid stuff here and there. I was tired of throwing my anger at him and wanted to calm down and _be_ the human being around here.

However, before I knew it (and could run away from my problems), Henry had grabbed me from behind with the strength I knew he had – almost getting my left shoulder out of its socket, so fast I was running away from him – and swung me around by my arm, pinning me in a weird angle so that I couldn't move, but face him. I was trapped, once more, without a way to get out, so I did the only thing I knew to do: struggle for my freedom. I did it for my whole life. Why not try it again, except with Henry?

I then, in my struggling, looked into Henry's angry face, so full of anguish at the same time, before it softened a minute later. The old Henry was back and I knew it.

"Why don't we try to talk this out like human beings?" he suggested, softening my hard and stubborn face as well. I _wanted_ to do what he said, so stopped struggling to demonstrate this.

"Sure," I replied, finally let go from Henry's grip as I calmed down and replied civilly. "We'll talk after surgery, ok?"

Henry nodded, calmed down as well. However, we could not talk anymore and there was no time. We had wounded soldiers on the compound – so blared the announcements as well – and we had to move, once more. We had another job to do.


	12. Major Daniel Simmons

Seventy-four hours later, after that conversation with Henry about talking to him civilly when we had the chance, I was done with surgery, hearing, over the P.A. system, about yet _another_ offensive on Hill 403 (the Chinese had also attacked Unsan and MacArthur was bombing communication routes at Yalu) and that more wounded were coming in tonight or the next day, which made me pissed about the fighting and the wounded coming in. I was becoming more and more and angry about the war in general. However, I could do nothing about it. I mean, after all, this was _war_. And we were only dancing to its tune.

"I see a spring of water in this God forsaken desert," Hawkeye commented as Frank (I stopped calling him Major Burns because he had not earned respect from me, the same happening with Margaret Houlihan) and Trapper came behind, all four of us heading to the Swamp after such a long shift in the O.R.

"The oasis is only a little farther," I replied jokingly as Hawkeye leaned on me heavily, tired just as I was. I felt his full weight as he collapsed on me, it being a joke, of course. I had it often after helping the wounded and spending hours (days, I should say, sometimes) on my feet.

"And I can hardly walk…" Trapper added as he, too, ran beside me and then suddenly collapsed on top of me.

"Hey, hey, you two, off of me," I yelled out playfully, dragging both doctors with all of my strength to the Swamp (as Frank sneered behind us in disgust, most likely thinking about insults in his mind in his own egoless mind), where we saw somebody sitting there on the spare cot. The spare bunk, where many men have stayed at, but never permanently due to Army rotation (Spearchucker Jones, Ugly John and even Duke), held some man there, someone unfamiliar to all of us.

Playtime, thankfully, stopped at the Swamp's doors and I had both doctors off of me, all instead looking at the man in the spare cot, just as I was. In full dress uniform was a Major (I saw the gold cluster): tall and lanky with blonde hair, blue eyes and a sharp face (and he had a chin, albeit pointed). His icy blue glare when he looked at us, saw our rowdy behavior – in disdain, much like Frank's – horrified me as he left the eyes on me. I knew, right then and there, that we were in deeper trouble than I had thought previously.

The four of us came into the Swamp cautiously (even Frank), surprised when the Major stood up, all military-like, and saluted us, saying as he clicked his heels together (his icy stare still on me), "Major Daniels Simmons on-duty, Sirs. I have already talked with Colonel Blake and have been assigned to this pigsty called 'The Swamp'. Army regulations demand a clean tent, cleared of dirty…clothes, garbage and even magazines, not appropriate for doctors in a war zone. Some of the material in this tent is also not allowed on a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital."

I saw the look on Frank's face (incredulous and happy) and shuddered hearing this creep. I then gave a half-hearted salute to the Swamp's new bedmate (Trapper and Hawkeye were ignoring the new doctor and being more concerned with sleeping as they went to their cots). Frank, behind me and about going to his cot, saluted and clicked his heels together as well.

"Welcome, Major Simmons," Frank said jubilantly, walking around me to offer his hand after the salute (I just shrugged my shoulders and went to sit down next to Hawkeye's cot, massaging his face and head, like I normally did after a long shift). "It's so nice to meet you, finally. We've been in need of you for a long time."

Major Simmons barely acknowledged my salute, but the effort was noted and I saw it in his eyes as he continued to stare at me when I moved to my usual seat next to Hawkeye. _You'll pay for this soon_, his eyes seemed to have said to me as I looked from him to my hands working on Hawkeye. _You and those Captains that did not pay me the respect I deserve will pay dearly. You'll see soon enough. I have the power to do it._

Finally, the Major looked at Frank, for what seemed like slow moments. "I am happy to be here as well, Major," he replied, shaking Frank's hand still. "I'm sure that I will help to make this camp into one that is in the best shape there is instead of this insane asylum people inform me it is."

"Oh, Major, and there is a lot of improvement to be had. You would not believe the fools we have here and what _should_ have been gone ages ago. As you can see, we can begin right where we reside."

Frank, happy to find someone just like him and Margaret, nodded his head and crossed his arms as Major Simmons looked from me to him, their handshake broken, their friendship cemented into stone. I then saw the understanding between the two as I moved my fingers on Hawkeye's forehead, with him moaning and ignoring what was going on around him. Trying to shake him awake in the process was tough (it was a futile effort, of course), but he and Trapper had to hear about the conspiracy in Frank's mind, going from him to the next Army nut case. He was out to get the camp again.

I gave up trying to wake up Hawkeye and went to Trapper at his cot with the same results (the Majors gave me no trouble, but continued to talk about the changes about to come in the camp hopefully…for them). So, I sat by Hawkeye again, massaging him once more and listening to the two idiots talk about improving the camp.

_This guy is more Regular Army than Frank and Margaret_, I thought as I heard them talk about court-martialing Klinger (for wearing dresses and refusing to be in uniform), Henry (for being an ineffective Commanding Officer) and even some of the nurses, who Frank and Margaret think are useless as hell. Then, the two talked about Major Houlihan (apparently, this Major Simmons was observing us in surgery before we saw him in the Swamp) and of how effective of a nurse she is and how nobody follows her orders, especially her own nurses.

I wanted to protest that last comment, but I didn't. I remained quiet in the corner with an unconscious Hawkeye until Frank looked at me, his own beady eyes boring into my head as he twitched his mouth, seeing me massage Hawkeye's forehead.

"Captain, aren't you on duty today?" he asked me, wrinkling his forehead.

"No, _Frank_, I'm not," I replied, defiance in my voice. "I actually have the day off. But, I'm expecting more wounded tonight, so I might as well scrub up for the next shift in the O.R. I am sit perfectly still until then."

"You should address a superior officer by proper rank," Major Simmons corrected as he looked at me again with that blue stare. "You, as a Captain of the United States Army, should know that, Captain…?"

"Morrison," I said with clenches teeth. "I'm Captain Jeanette Morrison."

"And a damned good one, at that," Trapper moaned loudly from his cot.

Major Simmons turned from one Captain to another – from me to Trapper and then Hawkeye numerous times – and sighed, finally pointing in Trapper's direction. "I see we have a lot of work to do here, as we've mentioned already," he snarled, trying not to get himself dirty as he took a step away from me. "First off, we're taking that…_machine_…out of here."

That "machine" happened to be Hawkeye and Trapper's gin still!

Trapper and Hawkeye knew it, too, and were up immediately, at the same time in fact (I backed off immediately, knowing how dangerous the two could be when they teamed up). They had been paying some attention, after all.

"You don't touch that 'machine' of ours," Trapper yelled, pointing his finger at Major Simmons. A second later, he had a flyswatter out, ready to hit said Major.

Hawkeye got out some old magazine of his (I think it was an old issue of women playing volleyball naked, something to offend the Major more) and rolled it up, adding "That 'machine' is our sanity, Major. Don't be dismantling that and making us go crazier than we already are."

"Oh, but I can, Captains McIntyre and Pierce," Simmons replied, somehow knowing their names. "After reciting the rules and regulations of a hospital in a war zone, Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, to Colonel Blake, _former_ Commanding Officer, he ordered that this 'machine' be dismantled. An M.P. will be here shortly to take it away."

I stood up, outraged and ready to fight again. I was charged and ready to go.

"Major, we're crazy people here," I started. "We're three miles from the Front Lines –"

"I'm aware of that, Captain," Simmons interrupted, yawning.

"Don't interrupt me!" I thundered, stomping my foot like Margaret Houlihan. "Major, just don't start with me. I stood there for seventy-four hours, thank you very much, hopping from table to table, playing doctor for the first time in my life. We may be short of a doctor, but us nurses are tough as hell and are worthy of Major Houlihan's praises. Our only ways to relax are to drink and joke around. Well, Sir, if that isn't your cup of tea, maybe you should search for another M*A*S*H unit to go gun-ho about, because you can't put Army regulations on this camp totally without mutiny. We'll all be against you within a minute."

"Insolence in an inferior officer, I see." Simmons shook his head. "Major Burns, ask Major Houlihan to put Captain Morrison on tent arrest with an M.P. on duty at all hours, watching her every move. She is to be isolated from the rest of the camp and not allowed out without _anybody's_ permission – yours, mine and Major Houlihan's – unless her duties tell her to. Even then, she is to be watched by an M.P."

Hawkeye and Trapper stood up, outraged. But even then, I knew that they couldn't do anything for me.

"Not unless Henry has something to say about this," Trapper said to Simmons, still shaking his flyswatter as Simmons told Frank to get an M.P. "He's still Commanding Officer here, you know. Last I knew in the Army, eagles were higher up the pyramid than golden stars."

"It seems that 'Henry' has been transferred to Seoul this afternoon, if you didn't hear me earlier saying that he was the _former_ Commanding Officer." Simmons yawned again. "General Clayton recalled him to the capital this morning, after he called the good Colonel, to transfer him to another unit, where he's needed most."

"As Chief Surgeon, I order you to get him back," Hawkeye retorted, finally using some rank, which wasn't usually typical of him. "We need the extra hands here. Unless you want to work overtime here, Major, I suggest you bring our Commanding Officer back here or get another doctor. We can't afford to get rid of another doctor."

"I don't that that'll be necessary, Captain Pierce. And your position as 'Chief Surgeon' seems to be a joke. Indeed, when does a Chief Surgeon play poker for two hours before operating on a patient the night this camp partied? Or, when does he become appointed over an officer as fine as Major Burns? I will never understand."

Simmons then eyed Hawkeye with another icy stare, getting tired of the backtalk (for sure), and it backed the Captain up, but not entirely. His magazine was about to strike, making Simmons back up, but seeing the M.P. come in made him smile again. "Ah, Sergeant, take Captain Morrison to the nurses' tent to retrieve her things and bring her to the extra tent for isolation. She has two minutes to get her things. Major Burns probably told you what to do otherwise."

"Yes, Sir!" The M.P. saluted and grabbed me roughly from my place next to Hawkeye's cot, twisting my left shoulder in the wrong direction. I felt the socket pop out of place, making me press my lips together, trying not give the Major Asshole (Simmons) a reason to smile anymore. Screaming in pain seemed to be a bad idea and something that would give him more satisfaction.

Hawkeye saw this, even heard the _snap_, and moved forward, saying quickly to save me some time, "Major, it's obviously the M.P. assaulted Captain Morrison. She needs some medical assistance –"

"You're over the line, Pierce!" Frank yelled finally. "Sergeant, after you take Captain Morrison to her tent arrest, inform Major Houlihan of the changes she now faces and have her sign the paperwork from Corporal O'Reilly. Then, come back here and take Captain Pierce to _his_ tent arrest. After that, dismantle and destroy that still!"

Trapper was about to say something, but Simmons got to him first, staring at him with his blue eyes. I don't know how he does it, but it scared everybody.

"Do you have something else to add, Captain McIntyre?" he asked Trapper as the blue stare shook the surgeon to the core.

"None at all, Major Simmons," Trapper answered fairly politely, putting down his flyswatter when the M.P. pulled up a gun in his other hand (his other was preoccupied holding me, for once without struggling), knowing Trapper used the plastic object as a "weapon". He then sat back down on his cot, staring at me and Hawkeye, asking, "I suppose that I am on Post-Op duty now?"

"Yes, it seems so, McIntyre, now that Colonel Blake is gone and not on duty here," Frank sneered, smiling. "Nurse Baker will be waiting for you. Major Houlihan will join you tonight, when she is through with the paperwork needed to change Commanding Officers. Today, though, you'll remember this as the day Majors Burns, Houlihan and Simmons took over M*A*S*H 4077th and made it Regular Army."

"November 4, 1950 at, hopefully, fifteen hundred hours," Simmons added, looking at his watch.

I wanted to say something, but the M.P. was dragging me by my bad arm, hurting my shoulder even more. And before I knew it, I was outside of the Swamp, looking at my last scenes of freedom. Henry was at the jeep taking him to Seoul, Radar helping him pack (the latter looked more miserable than the former); Kellye saw me as she came out of Post-Op, frowning and about to ask about what was going on before being told she was not allowed to talk to "prisoners"; Father Mulcahy was told by some M.P. that, by order of the new Commanding Officer, Major Simmons, he was to preach nothing but obedience on his next Sunday sermon; and I even saw Klinger, being told by another M.P. to get into uniform because his dress, heels and tights were not being in uniform.

I didn't even have five minutes to pack (I had two, as ordered), the customary amount of time given to "prisoners", even to those in Nazi Germany, as Dean told me when he visited me in West Germany after the war (it made to sad to think that this was more inhumane than the Nazis a bit). I had a minute to grab my footlocker and run out with it, not having help from the M.P. He was only following orders, I guessed.

_Damn U.S. Army_, I thought, and it wasn't for the first time. _Frank Burns and that damned Major are going to pay for this. If not now, it'll be soon. Soon enough, we'll get them back for this._


	13. Under Tent Arrest

"Come on, Jeanie, wake up. You _have_ to wake up!"

A voice filled my ears, out of the darkness I seemed to have been swimming in for some time. Soon, though, I was thinking that I was back in Bloomington once more, sleeping over at the Blake residence, as I often used to do, waking up for school or something I had to get up for. I even felt the bed underneath me, so real it had been.

The voice was still talking, though…still persistent. "Let me look at you, Jeanie. You look awful."

"Awww, Lorraine, come on…give me a few more minutes," I mumbled to the voice I thought was Lorraine, trying to move, but aware of the pain. "I don't wanna go to school today. I don't feel well…and my shoulder and side hurt pretty badly. Oh, don't send me back to Mom, either. Please, please, _please_? She'll kill me if she sees me."

"Wake up, Jeanie, _please._ Come on, wake up, dammit!"

Whoever was trying to wake me up was persistent, but stopped a moment later, somehow changing the topic a little. "You sure don't look so good, it looks like you've a temperature, your face is flushed and your shoulder and right side look bad. Come on, Jeanie, let me see you. Wake up."

"Oh, now you believe me?" I was still in Dreamland, thinking I was still in my upstairs bedroom at Henry and Lorraine's, shared later with their daughter, Janie, when I decided to drop in randomly if I didn't want to deal with my mother. "I don't wanna go to school, Lorraine. I feel cold and don't feel right at all. I feel sick all over."

"I don't think you'll be going anywhere, anyhow," the voice replied sadly. A hand then reached for my forehead, but, finding it tough to feel it because something was in the way, retracted the hand.

However, the answer given to me felt right, some "dream" come true! I was finally getting what I wanted. I wasn't going to go home to my mother and Clarence and I wasn't going to school! Lorraine seemed like the best mother I ever had, much more so than my own biological mother next door. She would understand me being sick, unlike Mom, who would drag me to school by the ear, if she could have the chance, not believing, even if I was throwing up all over her, that I was sick as hell.

I then felt my body being rolled over slowly and carefully, as if I was sleeping on my stomach earlier, and then a hand went to my forehead once more, finally feeling it.

"Aww, Lorraine, stop it, please," I moaned, trying to swat the hand away and pleading pitifully as I laid on the "bed" I thought I was in. "I'll be ok. Just let me sleep a little more. I'll be ok tomorrow. Don't let Henry look at me. Don't tell him about anything."

I heard a laugh, but it didn't sound like Lorraine. The laugh was _male_, but it wasn't Henry and I knew it. It even sounded familiar and became pushy again, saying, "Jeanie, come on, wake up. Wake up."

I opened my eyes – finally waking up to reality – and looked around, knowing I shouldn't have in the first place. And all of a sudden, the pain was real, the feelings were real and the person above me was real. The "bed" was gone and all I could feel underneath me was the ground, the cold, rough ground. The tent I was in was cold. It made me shiver, even though I was in my uniform and a heavy coat, so it seemed.

My mind went reeling then, confused and not knowing what was going on, but relaxed a little, remembering a little of where I was…where I was supposed to be…where I was assigned to be. It made me look around, wondering, though, why I had blood on my right side and why it hurt like _hell_. I didn't know how it happened really, but when I woke up, I somehow recalled to mind, pretty damned quickly, an M.P. and a gun. I was drunk and arguing about something and yelling about Frank Burns, the camp's "Ferret Face" and how –

"What happened, Jeanie? Talk to me, please, talk to me." Hawkeye finally came before my eyes, worried and looking older than I remembered.

I shook my head, ignoring the pain, and almost laughed at the situation – us in a supply tent, it looked like – but I went serious a moment later.

"Let me guess," I said, working my mouth perfectly after talking in my earlier state of semi-consciousness. "Korea? Middle of a war? Tent arrest still?"

Hawkeye nodded. "And we're stuck together, somehow. Henry's gone, the three Majors are in charge of the camp and we're also out of tents, so we couldn't be separated."

I tried getting up, but couldn't. I didn't even try again and gave in. I wasn't even going to be stubborn and act like Superman for once. I wanted to rest, to close my eyes into a deep slumber, to be warm and to feel right again. Whatever was making me feel drowsy and making my head spin didn't feel right.

"How's Trapper?" I asked quietly, trying to make small talk as Hawkeye ministered to me, first popping my shoulder in place (almost making me scream) and trying to staunch the blood on my right side as quickly as he could.

"I don't know," Hawkeye admitted, serious once more. "I only saw him once. He came in here to toss in my bag a few minutes ago. Then, he said that your brother was in town and ran before he was caught."

"Dean's in Uijongbu with his men already?" I asked, shaking harder (it seemed to have gotten colder in the tent). "That was fast!"

"His unit is around the corner and he's been looking for you in his spare time," Hawkeye replied quietly, pointing to the door. I think he meant that we were being watched, but I didn't care. I _had_ to ask about my brother! I wanted to see him!

"Am I allowed to write him?" I was desperate to communicate with Dean.

_Oh, God, he's here and he wants to see me and Henry too. I have to get through to everybody! I have to get out of here, somehow, if I can. I need to see Dean!_

"You're shivering, Jeanie." Hawkeye ignored my question and continued to work on my right side. "You've got an infection. I've gotta do something, but Major Insanity won't let me out."

"Which one?" I tried to put my arms around me, but failed became my shoulder would not allow me to. My teeth even began to chatter. "They're all insane," I added for good measure.

"Frank is the insane one!" Hawkeye yelled, throwing away bloodied gauze to one side and starting to take out bandages, still holding his hand on my side with one bloody hand. "He took control of this outfit and everything's gone downhill and nobody can do anything about it. Major Bastard – Simmons – has taken my position as Chief Surgeon and Major Baby – Margaret – is just enjoying herself at the head of the unit finally. She's the more sensible of the bunch, but I can't get to her without those boys with guns in my way."

I shook my head, trying to breathe. It was slowly becoming harder to.

"What is the rest of the camp going to do?" I mused. "We're all under the thumb of some idiots, it seems. Camp mutiny is out of the question because we'll all be put in the stockade or court-martialed, depending on what we all did."

"Careful what you say." I was warned as he wrapped up my wound, looking at the door again.

I wanted to lighten the mood! This was too serious, even for me.

"You're too serious now. Come on, Hawkeye, I think I remember getting shot, sort of shot. It just grazed my side." I was going to continue, but I got the case of the shivers again, which threw Hawkeye off again. It made him madder.

"I'm going to kill that Major…" he muttered in a threatening tone, still working and most likely ignoring me as I took a deep breath.

"I got some flask in my uniform always, Hawkeye. It's been a habit since I went into the Army. And Trapper would fill it with your swill from the still and I still had some when I came into tent arrest. I came in here, in this tent, and I think I got _drunk_ silly and was arguing with the M.P. about the change of command."

"And he shot you and it barely missed," Hawkeye concluded with hesitation (he knew something else was up, I guessed), trying to joke around before he thought about killing anybody. "I'll make sure to tell them to put that on your record: 'Does not play well with others'. You are a bad student, Jeanie. I hope Frank realizes that he missed putting the dunce cap on you."

"Oh, putting it under: 'Too stupid for words for arguing about a superior officer'?" I asked, somehow laughing.

Hawkeye finished up and smiled, but worry lines were etched deeper on his face. "I'll see what I can do," he only said. "There has to be some compassion to 'prisoners', even though we're all on the same side. Stay here. Let me see what I can do."


	14. An End to the Ordeal

I didn't know time and space afterward, drifting from one memory into the next. I felt like I was back in Bloomington most of the time, sleeping over Henry and Lorraine's again with Janie or sometimes Molly cuddling next to me when either had a nightmare. In another dream, I was with my mother, knitting in the sitting room with her, warming ourselves before the stove and talking about Church. Then, I was in bed – my bed in the corner of the bedroom – and Clarence came in, pulling me from my fetal position and telling me to prepare for another night with him. A little while later, I was at Henry and Lorraine's front door in the early morning hours, bleeding, screaming and begging God to make the pain stop.

I might have screamed out loud, but I could not tell if I did it in reality or not, in a dream or not. It only seemed like I was viewing my whole life before my eyes, but the nightmares of it took a liking to haunting me. It came back when I thought I had conquered the demons. But, I knew the demons were still there and coming back and forth to capture my spirit, breaking me down before the war continued to do anything else. They were just the shadows.

I soon came back to, seeing how blurry my vision was. It took a few moments to clear it, making me realize, soon enough, that I was still in the extra tent, on tent arrest, and was shivering on a cold ground, even with clothes on, bloody and ripped-up as they were in some spots.

Hawkeye had left me in a cold tent alone and went out for help, or to see if he could get some, if I remembered right. I didn't think it would work really, when I thought about it. I didn't have too much hope left, especially when he came back a few minutes after I woke up (without knowing how much time I had been seeing my past), empty-handed and worried still. It was minutes before he came back, for sure, but it seemed like forever to me.

"I wasn't allowed two feet out and was arguing with the M.P. for hours while everybody else is in surgery," he explained to me when I tried getting up again, my face showing him how curious I was about how things went.

"I didn't hear anything," I wheezed, trying to breathe again as I laid back down, shivering still.

Hawkeye went over to me and kneeled, feeling my forehead instead of saying anything. He shook his head sadly, as if he knew something I didn't, as if he hear or saw something I didn't.

_Did he hear me screaming? Is he still worried? What's going on? What's wrong with me? Did he tell me and I forgot? Or, is he keeping something from me?_

"Oh, Hawkeye, don't worry about me," I babbled on, trying to make small talk again as he got up and started to search the boxes around us, throwing some things this way and that and making a mess. He was like a madman on a mission to find something, so frantic was his searching.

"Hold on, Jeanie. I'll get you out of here alive." Hawkeye swore under his breath as he quickly found what he was looking for: blankets. He ripped the box wide open and pulled out a lot of them, coming to me with a bundle in his arms.

"Who said I was dying?" I asked as Hawkeye kneeled before me with the blankets, wrapping me in some of them. Then, on a second thought, he laid down next to me and started to wrap the rest of the blankets around the both of us.

In my delirious mind – trying hard to understand what was around me – I suddenly understood what words Hawkeye had said to me earlier, before he tried to go for help. I had an infection from my wound. He was telling that I was going to die if something was not done. And then there was me, trying to figure things out from the moment I passed out (a severe loss of blood helping me) to the moment Hawkeye wrapped the blankets around us, not helping anything by being stupid and forgetting what I had learned so long ago. I was only delaying the inevitable if I was not treated properly: namely, having some antibiotics and having the wound checked over, in case some lead got stuck in there, in case we were both wrong and I was really shot.

"Dammit, Hawkeye, why didn't you say anything?" I tried to yell, but I couldn't. My words sounded slurred, slow almost, as if I was drunk all over again. I couldn't move my mouth to form more words. I couldn't breathe and felt like I was drowning in my own body.

Hawkeye only moved closer to me, trying to keep me warm. He then reached over and piled on more blankets, but the cold was not going away.

"Shh, Jeanie, and go to sleep," was all he said, putting his fingers through my hair, combing out the tangles. "Calm down. Everything will be ok. You'll see. You'll be ok…"

It was the last I remembered before blacking out again.

~00~

_November 24, 1950  
The 4077__th__ to the 43__rd__, Korea_

_Major Dean Morrison, my older brother, how I missed you!_

_Here I am, laying in Post-Op, writing this letter at last. No, I am not working a shift here with somebody, checking on the patients. No, no, I am a patient here. Otherwise, I would not be able to write this letter, even if I had the spare time. I would have had too much paperwork to fill out and men and women (well, sometimes we get them) asking for my attention here and there._

_It's a long story, Dean, but I'm ok for the time being, it being a few weeks after my ordeal and all (recovery has been really slow, sadly, mostly because of the shoulder). So, don't worry about me. Hawkeye took good care of me! And I'm going to be fine, if I keep up on the antibiotics and be a good little girl. You can come and see me now (I am not LONGER on tent arrest) and, most certainly, you can come see Henry. He's back in command. I am so happy about it!_

_Well, you know some of the story: I sassed the new doctor, Major Simmons, and he put me and Hawkeye (who did the same, it seemed) on tent arrest. He went all Army on us and got Henry transferred to Seoul with General Clayton behind him. Apparently, this was temporary, much to the dismay of Majors Simmons, Houlihan and Burns. Clayton was tired of the reports already and took the transfer in good stride (he had other plans we didn't know about), but a couple of days later, reinstated Henry as our Commanding Officer._

_However, the days in which the three Majors were in control seemed to be like a nightmare for me and Hawkeye._

_What you don't know was what happened next. I was taken to tent arrest with a dislocated shoulder. Before Hawkeye joined me in some tent with supplies (weird, since we have a room for supplies next to Post-Op, but I guess it's full of equipment for soldiers on patrol, like Klinger, who like to sleep in there), I got drunk silly. Trapper usually filled Daddy's old flask (which he left with Mom and she gave to me before I left for West Germany) with the swill from their still and I drank it down in one gulp, remembering it when I got bored in the tent. It made me drunk for some reason and I argued with the M.P. (who was watching me) about Frank Burns. So, because I was "under mutiny", I was shot at twice. One shot missed me, but the other shot hit me in the right side. At first, I thought it grazed me, but I guess I was hit._

_Hawkeye took care of me, I swear, Dean! Trapper threw him a bag when he heard about me being shot at and I was taken care of accordingly, as best as he could, with whatever we had. He even put my shoulder back in place, but, without a sling, it was impossible for it to heal. And trust me, Dean, having a dislocated shoulder HURTS like hell!_

_It took a while, but I was ok in my own mind. However, I got an infection from the wound and it took a couple of days before I could be operated on and antibiotics given to me. In the meantime, before Henry came back and saw me and Hawkeye in such a state, our Chief Surgeon (reinstated as such while I was unconscious, I was told) bundled me up in blankets and even put his body next to me, trying to get me to ride out the fever. He also fed me if he could get the food AND wrote on paper (again, in the supplies) my progress so that he knew what he did and what results came from it. It all helped, thank God, and that was what kept me alive partially._

_Henry came in and saw the mess, with General Clayton behind him, two days later. Upon seeing that two people were under tent arrest, both went to see us. Henry himself thought that Hawkeye was playing hanky-panky with me and was about to yell at him (giving him a murderous look, I swear!) when he moved the blankets aside, but then saw the truth. Hawkeye said he went pale, stuttered questions and then ordered (all in one breath) that I be worked on immediately. And here I am right now, cooperating and being a good little girl. My left arm is in a sling, to help the shoulder heal, and I'm bandaged like hell. So, I'm glad somehow that I'm right handed!_

_Majors Burns and Houlihan did NOT know about our conditions and only ordered the tent arrest for the both of us (the Head Nurse even had charges drawn up in my name, but dismissed them when she saw how ridiculous they were). Only Major Simmons did know everything, so they (Frank and Margaret) are off the hook because they did their duty. However, General Clayton wanted to throw the book at Simmons, but the Major pointed out that he was doing his job, BY THE BOOK he was being canned by, and claimed that he did not order my shooting. The M.P. says otherwise, of course, so nobody knows who to believe._

_Tomorrow, though, there's going to be a showdown in Henry's office, to see what's going on. I hope everything turns out fine and justice is served. I'll tell you more about it later, if I can._

_Dean, I'm tiring myself from writing. Please, when you get this letter, come visit me when you can. I would like to see you here and not write letters with a sore shoulder and arm, trying to hold down paper!_

_Oh, and before I forget, congratulations on your recent promotion to Major! I can't wait to see your golden cluster!_

_Your loving sister, Jeanie_

_P.S. Did you have a good Thanksgiving with your men yesterday? We did! Some of the locals in the area (people we treat on occasion) gave us eggs and then killed a few chickens because we helped the villagers. We have REAL eggs and chicken for meals for while now! It was wonderful and I hope we have leftovers. I'm hungry right now thinking about it! Now, I have to ask Hawkeye to bring me some._


	15. Justice is Served?

Hawkeye wheeled me into Henry's office from the Mess Tent for the meeting a few days after the Thanksgiving holiday. However, it was not the day I told Dean was going to be the day of the meeting, but the day afterward (things were postponed, apparently). I mailed my letter to him the day I wrote it, hoping it'll reach him soon, since he's in Korea. I was desperate to see him, no matter what condition I was in. And I was in a wheelchair!

I was happy, however, being pushed around the camp, especially after a "good" meal in the Mess Tent (if you want to call it that) and a healing shoulder (finally!). However, my mood changed quickly when reaching Henry's office (from being happy to being totally hopeless) because I knew what this was: a showdown. And I knew that it was only the beginning.

All present and accounted for when Hawkeye and I entered: Radar, Henry, Simmons, General Clayton, Margaret, Frank and Trapper. The only people who were running late were me and Hawkeye. We were the last people in for the meeting.

"Pierce, you're late!" Henry mentioned, trying to be the C.O. and impressing the General.

"We had to make a stop in the Mess Tent," Hawkeye replied, smiling, defiant. "The patient needed her meal. Would you like a full report on her progress?"

"Can it, Pierce," Frank interjected, addressing Hawkeye's smartass comment and watching him sit down next to me at a corner of Henry's desk, Trapper next to him. "We have more important business to conduct."

"Oh, yes, you do, Major Burns, and I better see some results _today_ because all I see is some questions left unanswered." The voice was behind me, but I knew it anywhere: it was Dean, my newly-promoted brother, Dean!

I saw Trapper and Hawkeye smile at each other (I knew they had something to do with this by the looks of it), but I saw that some of the other officers cringe, save for General Clayton (a bit puzzled) and Henry (smiling and happy and beaming with pride). Radar himself, with a clipboard to write the moments of the meeting down, slinked into another corner of the office, overwhelmed by too many officers in the room.

"Who are you?" General Clayton asked. "You're not of this unit."

"No, I'm not," Dean replied, coming up from behind me and saluting Henry and General Clayton and _then_ Majors Simmons, Houlihan and Burns, who were all his superior officers by time alone. "I'm Major Dean Morrison of the 43rd Regiment Company, R.A. 19843072, stationed within the area to protect M*A*S*H 4077th, when commanded to by my superiors."

Then, Dean came up from behind me and kissed me on the cheek, making me blush as I turned to face him. "Hello, my little sister. How are you feeling?"

Simmons looked at me first and then Dean, his former icy stares dulled down to nothing. He knew that we had the upper hand somehow.

"This is an outrage!" he yelled, not scaring me anymore with his glares. "Your formality with the prisoner is not within regulations, section –"

"Shut up, Major," General Clayton interrupted. "This is a family matter, of course, and the Major is here to support her sister. There are no regulations against that."

"Not to mention, _Major_," Dean added as Henry greeted him warmly (my brother smiled, about to hug Henry, but remembered the situation at hand). "And I say that with hesitation, considering you are neither an officer nor gentleman. My sister is _not_ a prisoner any longer and neither is Captain Pierce. They've been set free."

"There are no forms signed to say otherwise," Simmons countered, a grin on his face.

"Oh, shut it, Major!" Margaret yelled, pulling out some papers out of nowhere, it seemed. "I got them readied and Colonel Blake signed them the day the two were released from their tent arrest. Here, General Clayton, you can see for yourself that everything is in order and that Captains Pierce and Morrison are reinstated to their duties, despite physical and mental disabilities to their persons, as you can see in the second page."

"Hear, hear," Trapper added, raising his hand in an imaginary toast.

"I can drink to that." Dean beamed with pleasure, alert, but always there when a drink was to be made. Not that he was an alcoholic like our parents, but in the way that he liked to have a little fun sometimes and to celebrate good times.

"Shut up, all of you," General Clayton ordered, looking to Margaret and putting out his hand for the paperwork. As Margaret handed over her paperwork, I looked upon it as a statement: Margaret Houlihan was defending me and Hawkeye. It was a miracle, of some variety, and I took it as it went. It might not come again.

As General Clayton looked over the paperwork and kept himself busy, I looked at Hawkeye (he and I developed a bond almost and could read each other's faces, but not the minds). He then looked at me, knowing what I was doing.

"_Physical and mental disabilities"?_ I mentally asked him with facial expressions. _What is Margaret talking about? There's nothing wrong with my mind unless you're not ok._

Hawkeye just shrugged his shoulders, telling me silently to be quiet and that it all was nothing to worry about. However, I wasn't going to let it go. If he wanted to drop it and make it out to be nothing, then fine. But I was anxious. I really was worried about him.

_What had happened to him in those days we were in that supply tent under arrest? Is he ok?_

"I can see that everything is in order here," General Clayton declared, passing the paperwork to Henry, who passed it to Dean (he passed it back to Radar, who tucked it under his arm, to file later, as he was writing). "However, the only thing that remains a mystery is how this all played out. I heard that both Pierce and Morrison had unmilitary behavior uncharacteristic in Army officers. Pierce, why don't you start?"

Hawkeye sighed, sitting up straight and telling everybody in the office, as Radar continued to write in his little corner, about how we came from surgery and there was Major Simmons, giving us some respect and then talking about improving the camp. He did mention that both he and Trapper were out of uniform (still in their white scrubs) and that both were lazily relaxing in the Swamp, me listening to the Majors talk.

"He and Major Insanity talked some more," Hawkeye added, "and Major Bastard here –"

"I don't like this name-calling, Pierce!" Frank called out.

Henry and General Clayton even looked at Hawkeye annoyed, but they allowed him to continue, nonetheless, without a word.

"As I was saying, Major Bastard here said it was time to dismantle the Oasis of the Desert. Trapper and I here said not to. And then Captain Morrison defended it and was sent to her tent arrest. I said we had no orders from our lovely Commanding Officer, Henry, and we were told he was transferred to Seoul."

"He only spent a few days relaxing before I reinstated him here," General Clayton added. "But, please continue, Pierce."

Hawkeye sighed again, joking around about how he was sent away to tent arrest with me because they were not enough tents in the camp for two people under arrest. Then, he went into details, more serious once more: how, within hours that he was sentenced, he entered our new quarters and found me, face-down on the ground bleeding; how, for the next day, he tried caring me the best way he could, but could do nothing until Trapper threw him his medical supplies; then, when I woke up, he tried to put lower my fever, but didn't think of a way how until he thought of blankets and staying close to me until we were discovered two nights later.

Finally, I learned of the conversation with the M.P., Sergeant Grant: how he was just following his orders by shooting me when I was talking trash about Frank; how he dismantled the still, only to put it back together in the Supply Room for Trapper to use because the latter begged it of the M.P.; finally, how he told Hawkeye that his orders were not to leave the tent unless told to, but the times he was supposed to be out working was when the wounded were coming. And Grant told Hawkeye that everybody was in surgery and was ordered to keep the two of us inside the tent, on pain of death.

"And who ordered Sergeant Grant?" General Clayton asked gently.

"General, you're looking at him next to you," Hawkeye answered, pointing his chin at Simmons.

Everybody then stared at Simmons, who stood his own ground immediately, especially after Dean gave him a murderous stare (as well as Henry, Trapper and Hawkeye). General Clayton said nothing, but listened patiently enough…for a General.

"I was following Army regulations and rules," Simmons sneered, defending himself soundly, so it seemed. "Pierce and Morrison were insolent and I punished them by the book. It was not my fault that Captain Morrison was shot. _She_ should not have been drunk to begin with. Regulations say under section –"

"I don't want to hear it, Major," Henry said, telling him to shut up for what seemed like the millionth time.

"Henry, Henry, let him finish, if he can't stop reciting by the book," General Clayton cautioned, to both Henry and Simmons.

Simmons smiled. "Sergeant Grant acted upon his own accord in all ways, even keeping them in the tent," he continued, grinning still: a predator's teeth showing. "He shot Captain Morrison, even though he was within his rights to. She was a wild drunk who was going to hurt him."

I knew that Simmons was lying within an instant by the grin on his face and the way he said the words. First off, I'm not a "wild drunk" (I may black out, but I'm usually happy or mouthing off about something, depending on my mood before I drank, and then going to sleep shortly afterward) and second thing is, no military personnel in the Army can shoot unless it's by an officer's orders, to the enemy or when totally threatened. A drunken woman is NOT grounds to shot. Even _I_ knew that.

Hawkeye and Trapper knew it, too. Hawkeye crossed his arms as Trapper asked, "Who else knows about this, Major?"

Margaret looked like she wanted to say something to answer Trapper's question (God knows she had no trouble saying things on her mind), but kept quiet for some reason. She must have known something about Sergeant Grant, but could not because of…what? Blackmail?

_Why, Margaret, stay quiet?_ I asked myself as I saw this. _Tell us something if you know that this creep is hiding something or lying!_

"Do you have anything else to add?" General Clayton asked Majors Burns and Houlihan when the question was left unanswered (and ignored, I thought). When both shook their heads – surely lying to hide something – the General looked pleased. "Fine, then, this investigation is over. Captains Morrison and Pierce are no longer under arrest and only acted the way they always do. Major Simmons, you're innocent and cleared of all charges. Majors Burns and Houlihan only acted as they should when the Commanding Officer is not around."

Dean was about to protest, but did not for some reason and kept his silence as well. He, however, glared at Major Simmons with such venom that I thought that my older brother wanted to strangle him, then and there. Hawkeye and Trapper looked like they wanted to do the same. They looked so pissed off about Simmons' acquittal that they were willing to bet who in the camp will kill him next. And not too many people in the camp were pleased with this transfer.

"I'm heading to the Officers' Club," General Clayton announced about a minute later as Radar concluded his notes and handed them to Henry to sign. "Henry, join me after you're done signing the paperwork. Major Simmons, Houlihan, Burns, Morrison, will you join me? Captains Pierce, McIntyre and Morrison?"

"I think I will decline, General, _Sir_," Simmons answered respectfully, the same man I first saw him as. "I have a shift in Post-Op in a few minutes."

"Very well," General Clayton replied, smiling when Margaret, Henry and Frank were joining him, accepting the invitation.

"I think I'll stay out," Dean said, speaking for me, Hawkeye and Trapper all and we all knew it. "I want to spend some time with my sister and talk with her about some news from home. Is that fine with you, General?"

"Yes, Major Morrison, go ahead." General Clayton smiled. "I'm sure Pierce and McIntyre will enjoy your company as well."

And with that, everyone prepared to leave. As the company left for their duties or pleasures elsewhere – leaving the four of us, plus Radar, in the office (and he left a minute later even because of his own duties) – Dean spoke again and this time, he was not happy.

"Oh, Jeanie, _that_ was a close one. You got to play better with others, you know that?"

"That's what we all say!" Trapper added, laughing with Hawkeye.

"But, Dean," I protested, "you can't blame me. I couldn't help it. He was being the bully, you see, and I had to stand up for myself."

"And you've got a bigger mouth than we realized. Oh, yes, I know." Dean sighed, wheeling my chair around to face the doors. "Come on, little sister, let's get you someplace. Now, where are we going? I need to get away from that scumbag and talk to you somewhere."

"To our quarters, dear Sir," Hawkeye exclaimed, getting up with Trapper.

"To a tent we have dubbed 'The Swamp', appropriately enough," Trapper added. "Free gin for all and olives enough to share!"

"Ok, then, let's go to 'The Swamp'," Dean replied, knowing from my letters what it meant.

"And hopefully, we can enjoy the still again," I said, smiling. "I know we got it back today from Henry. So, let's say, we make a toast to dirty socks, good Commanding Officers and the return of my brother to the next stinkhole he has to be in?"


	16. News From Dean

For hours and well into the evening (without any shifts for any of us or any wounded coming in), the four of us talked. Kellye joined us before she had a shift with Major Bastard (as Hawkeye still calls Simmons) and drank a quick glass from the newly-rebuilt version of the still (improved materials from the Storage Room). Gagging and laughing about joining us, she put her empty glass down and asked to be excused; she had a shift to go to and not be drunk for.

In the evening, when a lull seemed to have occurred in the fighting (even Dean said there was, for some reason, even though it's been heard that MacArthur had been pushing for his "Home by Christmas" attacks, but failing miserably), we four relaxed, smiling and downing our last glasses of swill. After commenting upon the taste of the gin (terrific, of course), Dean looked down at his feet. He was sitting on Hawkeye's cot (Hawkeye himself was sitting in the chair next to it, I was next to him in the wheelchair and Trapper was at his cot), mumbling about something under his breath. Nobody heard him and all of us were asking him to speak up, but it was me that got me to talk normally.

"What is it, Dean?" I asked, curious that his jolly mood turned sour in two seconds flat. "What's got your Army shorts into a twisted wedgie?"

"Oh, Jeanie, did you hear anything about our…umm…father lately?" Dean asked me in return after a moment of silence, holding up his glass to his lips for another few gulps, as if to dispel the things on his mind.

While Trapper got up and took his glass (seeing it empty when he gulped the last of it), I shook my head. "No. Is there anything I should be aware of now?" I sipped from my own glass, trying to think about why Dean was asking me.

"Other than he's coming to Korea to visit us…" Dean took his glass from Trapper and downed it in one large gulp. He looked tense and stressed out because of what was going to happen.

"WHAT?" I almost choked on my swill, coughing. Hawkeye immediately patted my back (Dean gave him a warning look, telling him to stop, but his brotherly concern was ignored) and I breathed again, making a face at my brother to explain himself and how he got the news.

"Henry called me up last night, while you were sleeping in Post-Op," Dean started to explain when he saw my face. "How he got through to me, I don't know. My unit was pretty damned busy at the borders, on orders to keep your unit secure and in place. I know you guys can go mobile, but we're trying not to make you move. It'll confuse everyone and more wounded can die as a result if the choppers can't find you."

"Radar probably came through with the call," Trapper suggested.

"Regardless," Dean waved his hand in indifference. "Henry and I talked about this and that, like what news we had from home and such. Apparently, Lorraine is having another child, but don't tell everybody about it. Keep it quiet. She just found out herself and, naturally, was oblivious to it until recently."

"Sure…" I trailed, trying to see the point in all of this while feeling sorry for Lorraine at the same time, being so alone and with two other children to take care of.

"Jeanie, I mean it." Dean played the part of older brother too well, crossing his arms even and looking at Trapper and Hawkeye. "You two better keep your mouths shut, too. Now, anyway, after we chitchatted, Henry mentioned that our father called him while he was in Seoul for those days he wasn't here and Major What's-His-Face was. Apparently, the Colonel has been searching for Henry Blake and asking him about us. He has his connections, you know, even if he was staying in San Francisco, trying to quit booze."

"Cheers to that," Hawkeye announced, getting us all the toast our father for quitting drinking, and drank deeply himself. We all did the same (refills were there for all), but it left me with an empty feeling. I didn't know why, for God knows how much I disliked my father for what he did. Even if he was trying to quit drinking, why should I care? The man hated me, anyhow, because I was a girl: a mutual feeling.

"So, how did he get to Korea if he's supposed to be confined in a hospital?" I inquired gently, draining my last glass for the night.

"I can't say," Dean replied carefully as he put his own glass down. "There are rumors of him threatening the doctors to let him go so that he could be with his company, the 68th Regiment, and to lead them in Korea. They're stationed up in Munsan while he's been in the background."

"That's dead in the middle of the fighting!" I exclaimed. "That's enemy territory! Dean, does he know what he's doing?"

"If someone is 'Heartless' enough to push the enemy back for the U.S. and defend the country, they'll go." Dean got quiet for a minute. "He's crazy, all right. He wants to get himself killed and I can see it."

"He's always wanted to get himself killed, Dean," I pointed out. "Our father has already been in two wars and is going into his third. In the First World War, he jumped out of his plane with a parachute allowing him to land, let his plane crash despite the cost, and tackled a bunch of German soldiers before running back to his lines. I heard that, while he was in Asia in the second war, he had two attack dogs with him, to kill any Japanese who came to him while he was sleeping. Then, if the dogs didn't finish the job, he would kill the men himself, bashing their skulls in until their brains oozed out." I paused, to take a breath. "Dean, this is a dangerous man who shouldn't be our enemy. Or, haven't you noticed over the years?"

"I have to be missing something here," Trapper mused.

"It's not anything, really," Hawkeye commented. "We just have one Colonel Morrison, who likes to drop in on the enemy, attack and kill, and then think everybody close to him is his greatest one other than the country's, but not having the guts to kill _them_."

"I guess you're all correct," Dean said, resigned with the inevitable. "Trapper, you're not missing much, but the story of a madman. Sadly, Hawkeye is right. He hasn't been promoted since 1919, but I think he likes it, which is why I never hear him complain."

"You talk with him?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sometimes, it's necessary." Dean went quiet again. "He likes to hear from me. He doesn't ask about you often, maybe once or twice in the past decade or so."

"Like I cared in the first place," I pointed out bitterly.

"Again, he asks about you, Jeanie." I heard a sigh escape him. "I think the last time he did was a few years ago, because he hadn't heard about you in almost a decade. The last he heard was that you escaped Mom and Clarence and you went into a military nursing school. I only told him what I knew at the time – that you were in West Germany – and he cursed you, drank something it sounded like over the telephone, and changed the topic."

"What dedication," Hawkeye added, toasting our father again. He and Trapper then drank deeply and threw their glasses at Frank's corner of the tent, hearing them crash and shatter.

"Gee, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes and rubbing my arms.

"Just be prepared, Jeanie." Dean looked at me seriously. "He'll be here next week, so be recovered enough so he doesn't cause a scene. Remember the last time he saw you?"

"Yeah, I do, thank you for reminding me, Dean." I became angry, but calmed enough to reply nicely – albeit sarcastically – to my older brother. "I was thirteen years old and he dragged me out of Mom's house to ask me if I was on his side. I told him I didn't know, because I really had no idea what was going on, and he slapped me and left in a hurry. And that was about the time we stopped seeing him at his house in Bloomington."

"Damn, we've got a drunk Dan Simmons with an ego," Hawkeye said.

"Yeah, and we're going to hear an earful and more if we're not careful," Dean cautioned. "Henry knows about the visit next week…sadly. And he's nervous as hell. He doesn't like 'Heartless' as much as we do."

"But, he'll put out his heart for a visitor of the 4007th," Trapper laughed.

"Uh-huh, very funny," I only said to end the conversation, annoyed about my father and trying to change the topic. "Now, aren't you two going to get new glasses and drink here or am I going to have to wheel myself to the Officers' Club to get more again?"


	17. Always Nervous Anticipation

The upcoming Christmas season, my first one in Korea, started off peaceful (and blurry) enough. I mean, I was nervous about my father's visit (so was Dean and Henry, I could tell by their faces when seeing them), but was happy to be walking myself around for once. I was out of the wheelchair a few days after Dean first came to visit me, but took it slow and drank with feeling to help recover, as Hawkeye said it was what the doctor ordered (and what the doctor was also used to doing). Even the gin from the still numbed the pain in my shoulder.

"Disgusting," Frank mentioned one night, the day before my father was expected to come. "You three are disgusting and a disgrace to this man's Army!"

"Come o-o-off it, F-Frank," I replied, slurring some of my words and knowing that I was drunk silly again (and not caring about it, since I wasn't on shift anytime soon). "My f-father is coming to vi-visit tomorrow and I want to forget i-it."

"She's got a case of the heebie-jeebies," Hawkeye added after me, toasting my words and drinking.

"And a case of the jeebie-heebies," Trapper chimed in, laughing.

"Your guys have the worst conduct ever!" Frank replied, sitting on his cot (which was very wet and cold, by the way). "Colonel Morrison is coming here tomorrow to inspect the troops and you…you…you animals are drinking like there's no tomorrow. And, and, and…"

"And what, Frank?" Trapper asked innocently as an olive tumbled slowly down from his martini glass. "Is something the matter?"

Frank put his hand to his cot, knowing that something was totally wrong with it, and smelled when he brought the vile liquid on his cot to his nose. He then wrinkled it when he detected what it was.

"You animals used my cot as a latrine!" Frank accused, pointing his finger at us after he quickly wiped his fingers on a handkerchief of his.

I giggled, knowing that it wasn't true, and pointed at Frank's behind. "F-F-Frank, if y-you weren't w-wearing the same clothes all the time…"

By then, without managing to explain the situation, I lost it and was laughing, spilling my drink close to the stove, our only way to stay warm…other than the swill, I mean.

"I think what she means is, Frank," Hawkeye continued, laughing with me and Trapper, "is that if you'd look to your own ass and not worry about everybody else's, you'll be fine. You wouldn't have to worry about Hot Lips cleaning it up for you."

Frank then tried to look at his behind, frantically, and it soon became another comical scene, like a dog or cat chasing its own tail. Soon, though, it dawned on him what we did (especially when he saw an empty helmet, next to his cot, with a thick icy layer inside of it), so he went to his footlocker, trying to find a new set of clothes, throwing this thing and that thing out.

"I don't know what you did it, you…you…you, miscreants," Frank finally sneered, denying the facts, as always. "But, I'm sure it was sneaky. You're going to pay for this, I'm sure of it!"

"So, Frank, what are you going to explain to the laundress?" Trapper inquired. "Or, for that matter, to Hot Lips?"

"Ooo…ooo…you guys!" was all Frank could say before he ran outside with his new set of clothes, covering his back and tush with an extra towel and his change of clothes from his footlocker.

"I think it was more interesting when it was frozen," Hawkeye remarked when the Major left our presence.

"I wonder if H-H-Hot L-Lips smelled it." I laughed again, this time, harder and knocking myself off of the chair I was sitting on. I landed on the floor with a satisfying _thump _and laughed harder at my own stupidity.

"Then it might keep Major Malpractice out of line," Trapper commenting, ending the joke and the conversation by asking if we wanted more to drink to keep warm.

~00~

The next day, I was sobered up (a miracle, since we had wounded and I took a shower so that I could function properly) and was ready to meet my father afterward, for the first time since 1936. It had been almost fifteen years, but I think it is high-time to see him again, despite my fears and deep hatred of him…and the fact that he was better off out of my life like I was out of his.

Henry, Dean, Hawkeye, Trapper, Margaret and Frank stood in attention at the Post-Op doors (bundled up), waiting for my father's jeep to come up (Simmons had volunteered for a shift in Post-Op, so we were not worried about him for the time being, and Radar was ordered to stand at attention at his office space). Daddy was late, as usual (he always is late to everything except for battle or to the bar), and had us standing at the door, shivering and nervous as hell, for over an hour before his jeep showed up at the gates of our little paradise in Korea.

"Ten, hut!" I heard Henry say as my father's driver saw us where we were and drove towards Post-Op, stopping in front of our miserable little group.

"At ease, gentlemen," Daddy ("Sir" would probably serve him in this Man's Army) added afterward, hopping out of his seat from the jeep like he was a spring chicken and not sixty-seven years old and so battle-weary from two previous wars. He then waved his driver away (he sped out of camp pretty quickly instead of breaking in the Mess Tent or the latrine as all other drivers usually do) and stood there, looking at us, spotting Dean and smiling upon sight.

"Ah, Dean, you've made it to Major!" Daddy then exclaimed, grinning wider. "Good job! I'm proud of you, son." He patted Dean on the shoulder, ignoring the wincing visible on my brother's face and his apparent fear of him being on front of him.

Then, Daddy went to Henry, who was next to Dean. "Henry Blake, it's good to see you again!"

Henry stood in attention still, nervous (like Hawkeye and Trapper would say, he looked like he was having a baby, which happened a lot when he was tense), and saluted and nodded his head, taking Daddy's hand when it was offered to him. "It's good to see you again, as well…Patrick Morrison."

Majors Burns and Houlihan still stood in attention, saluting, even in the cold, which amazed me, seeing as how they did it for five minutes straight. It caught Daddy's attention quickly after seeing Henry. It was something – other than Dean's promotion – that made him smile. And smiles from the man were far and few and far between.

Not to mention, Daddy's smiles were sincere…something he usually never was.

"Majors, it is a pleasure to meet you," Daddy said carefully (I could hear it in his voice) as he saw Margaret and Frank saluting.

"Major Margaret Houlihan, Sir, and this is Major Frank Burns," Margaret replied rather enthusiastically, shaking Daddy's hand as he held it out, her arm (and Frank's) down from saluting. "I'm Head Nurse of the 4077th."

"And Major Burns just happens to be tagging along, impersonating an officer," Hawkeye added.

"Pierce!" Henry warned, a _really_ worried tone in his voice.

"Oh, just ignore him, Colonel," Margaret continued in the same tone as before, her eyes shining with pride as Daddy shook Frank's hand as well.

"I was going to ask the man's name and get to know him, but already I can smell a prankster amongst us." Daddy looked from Margaret and Frank to Hawkeye, his own grey eyes (like mine and Dean's, I noticed for the first time ever), shining and red-rimmed. "In fact, I see two of them and my daughter, I assume justly, joining them."

"I'm Captain McIntyre and this is Captain Pierce, surgeons at war," Trapper said to Daddy.

"The Marx brothers with the ringmaster," Hawkeye added with a smile.

Daddy just shook his head and then looked at me, suddenly using his pointing finger to summon me in crooked and twisted motions that only frightened me. "Jeanette, let me see you."

I walked forward as bravely as I could, three even steps (as was traditional), and stood before my father.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" I asked politely, saluting.

"Yes, Jeanette," Daddy replied, putting his overly-large hands on my shoulders and then around my neck as I inclined my head down with respect, not wanting to look into his eyes. I used to do it when I was a child and I thought he'd like it still, but instead, I felt like I was getting choked.

The grip around my neck tightened as I continued to look down on the ground, which scared me out of my mind (the drunken part of my mind was going paranoid and screaming, but the rational part of my mind was trying to find a way out of the danger). Dean saw this and moved forward quickly in my defense (the only one who was able to without being reproached except for maybe Henry, if Daddy was in the mood to handle him), but did it with such respect that Daddy didn't quite notice him at first until he cleared his throat. The man just continued to choke me until someone caught his attention.

"Sir, why don't we move inside, so that you can view Post-Op?" Dean asked him. "I'm sure Colonel Blake would want to show you how the hospital is run and how the commands from his desk. Major Houlihan has already volunteered to give you a tour of the camp and also show you to your quarters when you are ready to go."

Dean then put his hand on Daddy's, gently rubbing the tough calluses with his own dirty, cold fingers until the grip around my neck loosened and I was allowed to breathe more easily. Daddy slowly let my neck out of his imperial grip, pushing Dean's hands away gently and telling him to get back in formation and not to bother him anymore.

"Jeanette, look at me," I was then ordered after Dean went back in formation. I wanted to walk away and to ignore this man I called "Father", but I obeyed the order nonetheless, not knowing what I was going to handle next.

When I looked up to Daddy, he took my chin in his hands, staring into my own eyes with his own (grey to grey: very cloudy, hazy even), saying, "Jeanette, every time I look at you, I see myself in a female form. You are too much like me in appearance and mannerisms, much more so than all of your brothers. Be careful next time, before a disaster comes. You might not be ready for it when it comes to you."

Then, he let me go, walking around me, as if nothing – _nothing!_ – had happened and calling out to everybody that a tour of the hospital and camp was a good idea. A minute later, I, shocked and surprised by the words I heard (they were not bitter or cruel, but neutral, like warning me of something), turned around, watching Henry holding the door for everybody, trying to stay behind and not in the front, so Daddy could not reach him easily enough if something offensive came from his mouth. Not to mention, I think it was safer if I stayed with Henry in the back anyhow.

I jogged over to Henry, my shock mostly gone. "Are you frightened of him like I am right now?" I whispered frantically to him as we got out of the cold and wind.

"If you want to call that hulking figure before us 'frightening', then be my guest," Henry replied. "Just be careful, Jeanie. You almost got killed out there and your butt in a sling."

"I don't think so," I said back softly, partially listening to Margaret show Daddy around the office first, like a perfect tour guide, and demonstrating how fast Radar works for us. "He has better things to do than kill me."

"We'll see," was Henry's last words before Frank turned around to shush him, mumbling about disrespect in officers and how the U.S. Army can't find any decent people to become them.

The tour went on, regardless, and my thoughts kept themselves to Daddy and what it looked like he was going to go if he had to chance to. Well, _I_ didn't think that I was going to be strangled, but Dean and I never knew with Daddy sometimes. He was a complete mystery most of the time.


	18. Too Many Disasters

After showing Daddy how we functioned in the office and with Radar always knowing what was going on, we all (minus Radar again) went to Post-Op, where our wounded were. Most of the beds were filled with our men (two of them were North Korean prisoners ready to be shipped out soon and another was a civilian from the village) and all on shift were busy to make them as comfortable as possible before they went to an Evac Hospital or back into combat or, in the case of the prisoners and villager, back home or to a prisoner-of-war camp.

"Who is in charge of this shift?" Daddy asked as Dean excused himself, Radar coming in and whispering to him that he had a phone call from his second-in-command from the unit and that was it urgent.

"Major Simmons, one of our _brilliant_ surgeons," Margaret replied, pointing him to the desk at the far corner, where our lovely Major Simmons was writing out reports and taking paperwork from the nurses patiently – and kindly – enough.

"Who also happens to be in charge of most of the shifts," Henry added, grumbling about how he and Frank always volunteered for duty…or a firing squad, if there was one, as we've all joked around when Simmons wasn't bunking (again) in the Swamp and complaining about the smell and mess.

"Much more so than Frank Burns, Chief of Malpractice," Hawkeye muttered.

"What was that, Pierce?" Simmons had heard of our approach behind him and stopped what he was doing, looking up from his work. Then, seeing my father, he stood up and saluted, obviously frightened and wanting be anywhere but where he was (his face went white with fright, his body shaking from seeing Daddy). It seemed like Simmons knew Daddy.

"It's a p-pleasure to see you here, Colonel Morrison," Simmons added on a second thought, practically stuttering through the sentence.

Daddy saluted, back, grinning evilly, as if he had some scheme in his demented mind, only replying, "It's nice to see you again, Simmons…hopefully, it'll be in the stockade, Leavenworth or dead next time. What are you doing here in Korea?"

"Serving the U.S. Army, as I've always done." Simmons looked more nervous by the minute.

"Oh, good, a reunion," Trapper interjected. "How many more will we have today?"

"All we need are our old high school classmates," Hawkeye added with a smile.

"Oh, can it, you two!" Henry _also_ looked more nervous as moments passed and addressed the issue the only way he could: by ignoring it and going onto the next one. "Colonel Morrison, I'm sure that you can see we run an effective hospital –"

"Henry, put this man on report!" Daddy looked angry all a sudden, watching Simmons squirm more than he already was doing (Hawkeye and Trapper exchanged looks and Margaret looked to Frank to do something, she was so confused). "This man is a rapist and will do anything for promotion in order to escape his last position, which was what he had been going for years to give the U.S. government the slip. He's gained his degree as a 'doctor', if you must call him that, by cheating and imitating others in the art, a real master, if you must call him that. His real name is Jacob Zimmerman, a rabbi's nephew, ostracized by his own family because of his actions."

By looking at Simmons' reaction to everything, I knew that Daddy was telling the truth (in an angry way, for sure, but he was always able to get the truth out of somebody) and was trying to uncover a fraud. But it also shocked everybody and explained all of their reactions.

"Colonel, we can't just put the man on report for anything unless we hold a serious investigation and the said-accused is put in isolation in his tent and watched," Frank declared, trying to break up the tension and bring up regulations, despite the general shock.

"Major Burns is right, Sir," Margaret added. "Major Simmons has not given us a reason to believe, as well, that he is not a doctor, rapist or whatever you're accusing him of."

"Sir, your son is leaving." Radar, not knowing what was going on a few minutes beforehand (or did, but was ignoring it), came into Post-Op, addressing my father quietly enough. "His unit is shipping out to the Front now."

"When? How? Why?" I asked frantically. "I thought he was staying here to watch the 4077th. His unit was supposed to be our guards."

"If he could keep it permanently, he could, Jeanette, but the 43rd moves to where it is needed," Daddy answered for me as he left Post-Op, calling behind him that he'll be back and to keep me there until he got back. "You can't always get what you what with the U.S. Army. Dean has to go where he's ordered to. He can't watch you all the damned time."

_Great, just great…the father who never knew me is treating me like a teenager and not thinking twice about it. Hell, the last time that he saw me, I was barely in my teenager years and he was being an ass to me. Does he realize that I'm a few years short of being thirty? Do I act like the teenager he's treating me as? No, and I don't need a babysitter either. Why ask Dean to watch me?_

"Say, Sir, why is that bottle over there cracked?" Radar had suddenly moved to a patient's bed and had seen the bottle which held precious blood.

The Company Clerk – young, innocent and naïve still, by our standards – looked to Henry for the answer, but he was more involved in keep an eye out on Simmons by staring at him with such distrust that it was disturbing, even to me, who had seen that face very few times (and it was usually to my stepfather). Simmons had calmed down by Daddy's disappearance elsewhere, but was still frightened by the ordeal.

Hawkeye saw it immediately and went over to where Radar was. "Radar, don't touch that," he warned carefully. "Don't you know that touching something like that could make you sick?"

"Really, Sir?" Radar asked as Trapper and I grinned from behind. "How sick can I get? Gee, whiz, I should let you handle it, huh?"

"Sure, Radar, let me take care of it. You just stand back and watch the pro handle it."

Hawkeye smiled also and told a nurse to being him more B negative blood. Taking the new bottle from the nurse on duty a minute later (and ignoring Henry stare Simmons down), Hawkeye reached over, ever-so-carefully, to remove the offending, cracked bottle and replace it. However, what he did not anticipate was the old bottle shattering in his hand.

The shattering noise was loud and caught everybody's attention, even those who were previously preoccupied with the scene before.

"Pierce, are you all right?" Henry asked, forgetting Simmons for the moment (he sat back down to write his reports, as if nothing had happened to him).

"Sure, Henry, if I knew whose blood was whose," Hawkeye joked, standing still and dripping blood all over the place, but moving his hand so that it didn't drip on the patient (instead, it was all over the floor, which was a safer bet, but not by much).

"Nurse, get that patient his bottle of blood," Margaret ordered Kellye, also on the shift. "Clean up the patient as well and give him new clothes and sheets and pillows. I'm sure he didn't get himself anymore blood on than when he came in here. And somebody get Pierce cleaned up and out of here before he contaminates something!"

"No, Ma'am, he did not," Kellye answered (talking about the patient), going up to Hawkeye to get him out of the way to clean up the patient and hooking up the new bottle of blood. She then took the bottle from him and hooked everything up, cleaning it off in the process, while Hawkeye stood still, looking for a way to get himself cleaned up without making himself a nuisance.

I, however, could not stand there and watch blood drip from Hawkeye's hand or have him searching for a way out and finding none (since everywhere he turned, he seemed to find no way to keep the patients sanitized and safe). So, I went over there, obeying Margaret's orders (avoiding the blood perfectly, my body blending every which way I wanted it to), to get him out of the mess and to clean him up. Taking him by the unhurt hand (I assumed, with the glass, that Hawkeye had a few shards rip open his skin) and, wrapping my own Army jacket around his other hand, I led him around the mess, trying not to track anything else. Hawkeye just followed my lead perfectly, which pleased me, since he's usually a pain otherwise.

"Jeanie, where the hell do you think you're going?" Henry asked me, eying the scene with suspicion, another "fatherly" trait he's developed over the years. It annoyed me.

"Well, if someone grabs a kit to scrub this area and sanitize it properly, we'll have everything cleaned up safely and securely," I replied sharply, angry that they would not take action immediately sometimes. "_I'm_ taking Captain Pierce to Pre-Op so that he can be cleaned up properly."

"Or, as properly as Hawkeye deems it," Trapper laughed as we walked out together, him behind me and Hawkeye.


	19. This is Going to Cost You

"Geez, I never had a nurse love me so much that she'd do anything for me." Hawkeye, ever the jokester, poked and prodded at me all the way to Pre-Op (I was still leading him by the hand), where we had sections dedicated to examinations and such. Trapper had turned the other way and headed outside, so he left me and Hawkeye alone.

"Stop teasing this nurse and you'll get your hand looked it," I grumbled, bringing Hawkeye to a place where he could sit down. However, he was squirmy and I had to keep putting him back to his seat when I tried getting supplies from the cabinets and closets. After ten minutes of chasing him around the room (Hawkeye wanted a chase and I gave him a good one, catching him a few minutes later), he finally sat down and cooperated.

I washed and gloved myself and got everything ready on the table. "Ok, are you ready for me to unwrap that, Hawkeye?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." A grin on his face told me otherwise (another urge to run around and escape me was there, just to be the pain) but he sat still, giving me a break…for once.

I unwrapped my coat (ignoring the cold the whole time and knowing I could easily get another jacket from the Supply Room) from Hawkeye's hand, the old glass bottle still held in-between his fingers in pieces. Gloved, I picked up the loose pieces and threw them into a wastebasket meant for glass pieces and other solid materials that we deem hazardous waste. Then, knowing that I needed to wash his hands, to make sure that the extra blood was off of his hands, I took Hawkeye to the sinks in the next room.

There was silence between us (I mean, I had wasted my breath when cursing him as he ran around and tried to delay everything earlier) and, as I washed Hawkeye's hand carefully, I worried. _What if he had an infection?_ I doubted it, because his cuts were small, but there was still glass in his fingers that I needed to pull out.

"I don't see anything serious here, Madam Nurse," Hawkeye said as we went back to the examination room.

"I don't see anything wrong, either," I replied quietly as I sat him down and took off my gloves, putting on a new pair to keep myself clean. I then took out a pair of tweezers, sanitizing it with alcohol in a bowl prepared next to me before proceeding.

"It'll be a few days before I get to use my magic fingers again." Hawkeye's eyes twinkled. "And I'll need a company of a nurse, Love."

I stopped jabbing at his fingers with the tweezers for a minute, looking up at him.

"This is an interesting turn of events" was all I could say because I was so surprised by the name. It was true that Hawkeye had never before called me "Love". It seemed like he wanted to tell me something, but calling me that was the best that he could do.

"For you, maybe, but for everybody else, it won't be."

There was a smile there, but I wasn't sure with Hawkeye sometimes. So, I looked up at him again, searching for something in Hawkeye's face, but I found nothing but a shining pair of blue eyes and a silly grin on his face. I didn't know what it meant, other than he had something on his mind, but I had to find out sooner or later.

"You chase every other nurse in this camp with Trapper," I pointed out, going back to work once more. "Then, a few months ago, when you see me at Henry's office, it seems like you've stopped it completely. Trapper's been parading girls in and out of the Swamp, and yet, you take an interest in just me…little old _me_. Hawkeye, I'm not super attractive. I'm not like the other nurses. Why choose me over all of the others?"

"Because, Love, you're different from the rest and that's attractive enough," Hawkeye simply replied.

There it was again: _Love_. He kept calling me that and yet, I didn't know if I was his Love or not. I knew that he was mine – I could say that at the time and knew it well, if I could still hold him by the collar – but was I _his_ Love?

I quickly finished picking at the glass, more intent on making sure the small cuts on Hawkeye's hand was not going to be infected (the palm area looked more horrible, to be honest). It didn't look bad when I was finished, but I could not be sure. However, it was the excuse I also needed to avoid this conversation, one that was going in a direction I didn't think was possible.

"You're not talkative, aren't you?" Hawkeye took his other hand and pick my head up by the chin. "Oww, you missed a piece."

I could not tell, since I was not looking at his hand. But I didn't say anything. I was enjoying the moment too much, looking into Hawkeye's eyes and trying to find myself in there. But, I was lost in his eyes again and I could not get out of it…and it was a wonderful feeling.

Then, just when I thought I couldn't be more lost, Hawkeye kissed me again, the same way he did the first night we were together. This time, though, it was more persistent, harder and…well, it had more sparks to it than the last one. And it felt _so_ right to me.

Our kiss was long and it ended suddenly when we heard someone clearing their throat outside of the door, as if the person was watching and wanted our kissing to stop.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I finally said, so softly, when Hawkeye finally let me go, allowing me to go back to work. "I'm almost done. Let me get the last pieces out and clean and bandage it."

"As you were then," Hawkeye replied, looking at the doors and seeing somebody leave, a few shadows out of the corner of my eye almost. So, I followed his eyes and saw Frank and Margaret leaving just before they could disappear completely.

I laughed. "They're never going to leave us alone." I picked the last of the glass up (ouch, his hand looked awful from all of the cuts) and cleaned his hand. Then, after bandaging the palm and placing Band-Aids on his fingers, I added, "This is going to cost you."

"Yeah, but it won't hurt me." Hawkeye tried to wiggle his fingers with all those Band-Aids on, something he _insisted _upon. Then, after playing with his fingers, he gave me my payment, the one he knew I wanted: another kiss, but it was a quick one.

"Will I see you in the Supply Room later on?" Hawkeye then asked, getting up.

"Sure…" I said, thinking that my luck was…well, so _unreal_, that I had to be dreaming about it. But, I wasn't. It was so surreal, though. It _surely_ had to be a dream…

"Twenty-four hundred hours," Hawkeye whispered in my ear as he leaned in for another kiss near my ear. "Make sure to lose Dad, Colonel Insanity and Majors Baby and Malpractice. I'll lose Captain Courageous and Major Bastard."

And then, he was gone. It happened so quickly that I had no idea that Hawkeye was gone until an hour later, when I was _still_ dreaming about those kisses.


	20. Secrets Spilled Out

I was running late…to bed, that is. It was early in the morning (after my nice few hours with Hawkeye in the Supply Room, a locked door being the greatest thing ever) and, for some odd reason, I was being called to Daddy's V.I.P tent for a meeting, a "talk" if you will, with him.

It was already about three in the morning. I was going to go to bed and sleep before my shift in the early afternoon, but Radar had happened to bump into me on my way out of Post-Op (checking on a patient I was worried about) and told me that I was being paged by my father. And it seemed to be a bit urgent, by the way he ordered Radar around.

"Do you know what he wants, Radar?" I asked when hearing this strange order, rubbing my arms as goosebumps lined them. I had a new coat on, all right (Hawkeye found one for me in the Supply Room after we were done, finding that the coat we took from its coat hanger worked out perfectly), but the cold still bit through it.

"I don't know, Sir," he replied, pointing me in the direction of the V.I.P tent Daddy was staying in. "He just came in and he started to yell at me to wake up and said to go get you from the Supply Room and –"

"He knew that I was in the Supply Room with Hawkeye?" I gasped, so embarrassed I felt about it because I thought that, even though the camp might know about it, he might not.

_Dammit! And I thought it was bad enough the camp knew things!_

Radar shivered. "I don't know, Sir, but –"

"Ah, Corporal O'Reilly, I see you've found my daughter."

My father's crisp voice suddenly filled the cold air behind us, making us both shake, and it wasn't just from the cold either. Radar seemed just as frightened as I was of my father, instead of in awe, and it showed earlier in the office tour.

"Sir, what is it that you want of me?" I asked Daddy as he, uncharacteristically of him, took me by my arm and linked it with his.

"Corporal, you're dismissed." Daddy was ignoring my question and I knew it. He usually did unless he had a certain point to something.

"Sir…" I began, but then thought better of it. I kept my mouth shut.

"Jeanette, let's talk in my tent for a while," Daddy just said to me when Radar scampered back to the office, happy to be away from my father. "Why does it seem like this whole camp – crazy as it is with Henry Blake in charge – is frightened of me?"

"I don't know," I replied, uncomfortable with his arm around him and wistfully wishing for Hawkeye to rescue me (haha, my Knight in the Shining Bathrobe could not be found anywhere) and get me back to the Swamp. "Maybe it's who you are and what you did?"

Daddy said nothing back to me, but continued to walk.

Passing the camp's usual night owls (Klinger on patrol in a female dress uniform, Nurse Baker hiding behind another guardsman under a sheet and even Frank and Margaret sneaking around again), Daddy and I remained silent for the rest of the walk, finally reaching his tent and going in after a minute of walking. And this was different to me, so strange of it to happen. I never had my father even _touch_ me in a manner like that (familial, friendly even) and not threat to kill me before. I half-expected him to do something idiotic, but he didn't.

Releasing me from his imperial grip, Daddy closed the door to his quarters and sighed. He took out a cigar (I was waiting for it to come out, a usual scene from long ago, I swear!) and he offered me one from his pocket.

"I don't smoke," I said with little confidence, shaking as Daddy told me to calm down and sit in the chair next to his cot. He even took the chair opposite of it and stared at me.

"You should, it's good for you." Daddy lit the cigar, taking a drag and flicking the ashes to the ground, getting to the point quickly. "Jeanette, I've been wanting to talk to you for years, but I don't know how to really."

"Because you've wanted me dead for years?" I asked with a blast of anger, but then covered my mouth with my hands. I was shocked I sassed my father like that, and knew that doing so would have had me whipped, so was almost crying with fear and shame when he just laughed at the reply.

"See, Jeanette? You've more like me than you think," Daddy took another drag from his cigar and blew the smoke he inhaled in my direction. "Look at yourself, Jeanette. You and Dean have achieved a lot from the time you've become shaking adults to now. I've watched you both from afar and I wanted to say…how proud I am of you. You've done a lot more than your older brothers – how many there are of them – and maintained a semi-sane life in the meantime."

"Not when I was working with Colonel Flagg," I mentioned, almost forgetting that this was my father and that he would not care otherwise. I covered my mouth again, looking shocked that I dared to talk out of turn again (even to talk of events long past), and especially something I keep secret.

Daddy waved his hand and ignored my reaction, coughing on his next inhale of the cigar. I wanted to rub his back, to make it stop, but I knew better and waited for him to talk.

"That jackass?" he asked when his coughing stopped. "The 'Wind' is moving with each war, Jeanette. He just used you for his own means. You were his tool in Germany: you thought you had the control, especially when you had your cronies doing your own work and getting killed on _your_ plans, but he was there, watching you and taking notes and making sure that you made a slip and he could trap you in it. And when you were going to be sent here, they all said it was a joke, you were no spy, but the Soviets knew otherwise." Daddy spit on the ground. "If they find you, they're going to kill you, Jeanette. You played the spy for far too long and know too much. This is why you were sent here: to stay out of trouble before the Soviets found you. You _have_ no security clearance to go back to the United States again. And sneaking in wasn't a good idea."

I covered my ears, not believing what I was hearing.

"But they were following orders from Flagg," I protested weakly as my ears remained covered. "I sent them to do what they had to do and the Soviets caught them. It wasn't my fault. I couldn't go out there. They knew me. And I can't shoot. I can't kill. I'm a nurse, not a _spy_."

"Deny it all you want, Jeanette," Daddy continued, smiling a grin I had not seen since I was a child. "The plans were something you and Flagg were working on and it worked, to an extent. Then, the Soviets found the little spies of yours and killed them, one by one, torturing them before death became their only mercy. They don't tolerate the U.S. sending people in to look in and say, 'Mind if we step in and topple your government?' Jeanette, you were sent, as a _tool_, to overthrow the Soviet government with Flagg. Admit it."

I lowered my hands from my ears and stared at him, suddenly crying. A tear started to make a stream down my face, but then, soon enough, more came.

"You've been a soft one, haven't you?" Daddy put his cigar out on the floor – ignoring the mess it made – and scooted his chair over to me. He put my chin in his large hand, just as Hawkeye did, and bore his eyes into mine again. "War will toughen you, Jeanette. Don't you _ever_ forget about it _ever_. You may be a nurse, never agreeing with the concept of the form of protection called guns, but you were also a spy. You hurt a lot of people working for the U.S. government and Uncle Sam. And I can't protect you from that. You've made your own enemies. It's your own choice whether or not you want to face them and fight them, starting with the one person who put you into this to begin with."

I shook my head, trying to get out of his grip and to forget that what he was saying was the truth. I even stopped crying to show him that I was the boss. I didn't want him controlling my life anymore and telling me which side to be on. I was my own person. He didn't _need_ to tell me how life was. I knew it already.

However, I was still in his grip, dammit, and I wanted out of it. I squirmed harder to get out.

"Daughter, stop that. You're mine right now and not Captain Pierce's. This time is ours, as I wanted it. Appreciate it right now because I might never be this compassionate and kind to you ever again."

"You never were," I replied with spite, almost spitting his face (the temptation was great). "You treated us with the most disrespect I had ever seen a parent do to a child."

"I was never the best father, Jeanette, but at least you learned early enough that the world is never fair, even to those who deserve it." Daddy's grey eyes turned darker, almost black, and it frightened me for a second. "You were young when your mother left me and you traveled too much for my taste, so much that I could not see you and get to know you as a child. But, I know you more than you think, even without seeing you. You want to settle down and have a family. Every girl wants that. You wanted that with your boyfriend lover of yours in Berlin there. What's his name again?"

"Falk, you mean," I whispered, forgetting the light of my life in Germany, a man that lit my fire like Hawkeye did, but died in the line of duty, if I must call it that. He was my falcon, indeed, and a space in my heart was still there for him.

"You were engaged, if I remember correctly. And then he happened to die on that mission, the one you and Flagg orchestrated and sat back looking in on. Then, you were shipped here, before the Soviets got you, too." Daddy let go of me, pushing his chair back a foot. "He seemed to be the love of your life before this Captain Pierce came into your life. And the two seemed to be the same: jokesters, not Regular Army, whatever. Falk didn't like to be in the West Germany Army and make a joke out of it. But then he looked at you, when you two were assigned together, and everything fell into place."

"Hawkeye was not like that at all!" I exclaimed. "I met him in Henry's office and not on some parade with his grandfather!"

"But he's too alike to Falk, isn't he?" Daddy asked, looking at my face, still wet from crying moments before, and nodding when he looked deep inside my eyes and saw the truth of the matter. "It's what I thought. Jeanette, be careful. Your own passion will be your downfall."

He stood up. "Leave me. I'm off to Munsan early in the morning. This might be the last time I see you, Daughter, so remember this as the time I will be the most sympathetic to you and your causes."

I finally got the courage to spit on his feet, showing him how I felt about him when I was not in fear.

"It's just as I thought," Daddy said again, walking over to the door and opening it for me, motioning at me to get out. "I'll talk to Henry Blake when I have the chance to, if he and that nurse are not together in his tent. Now, Jeanette, get out of here. Get out of here before I change my mind about the nicer things I said to you tonight."

"I'll go with pleasure, Sir," I announced, as if to the world wanted to know my opinion of him still. I got up from my chair and went out the door, proud, but somehow, touched by his words.

_Did Daddy mean everything he said? I know he has his connections and knows where the hell I am most of the time. But, is he right? Am I a walking target? Will the enemy look for me and kill me for what I did to them for three years, despite them not knowing my real name or seeing an actual face? Do they know that I am here and not in Germany? Most importantly…will Colonel Flagg rat me out?_

I walked back to the nurses' tent quietly (despite the noises I heard otherwise), thinking about my poor Falk. I had not thought about him since the beginning of the last Christmas season, our last together. A few days later (more towards the New Years' holiday, I should say), the mission to infiltrate _the_ ultimate central power of the Soviet Union – Moscow, the capital – had begun, where I learned that Falk was killed, a bullet to his head. The leader, of course, had to go first, and he volunteered to go first for the firing squad…or so I was told by Flagg later on.

I finally reached my quarters, but I was not keen on going in. I was too upset about what Daddy had said, despite the few hours I had with Hawkeye. It was a bittersweet night indeed.

I only had hours in my hands – small time, really – before my Post-Op duty. I wanted to sleep because of this, to think about the words that were said, but I could not feel anything resembling sleep as I stood at the door: without opening it, without even thinking of the consequences of my own actions. Jesus, the words said to me by Daddy…God, was it all true? I never dared to defy him often, but when I did, it meant horrible things were coming. And I did know that someday, they would come. What was next, then?

I looked up the sky, another tear sliding down my face. _Oh, Falk, what would you have done in my place? What should I do for myself now, now that Daddy has played his hand and showed me everything he's known about me? I know that I need to talk to Henry about this, of course, and tell him everything but what is always secret, things that I even told Hawkeye the first night we really talked to each other. My falcon…oh, my falcon, what can I do? Should I be truthful or give him another attitude? I don't know anymore. Help me…_

The stars winked at me in their usual reply, making me cry once more, thinking of promises made and wishes that were supposed to come true.

_Falk, forgive me about Hawkeye. I love him as I loved you. He's just like you almost, like…no, as if someone sent him to me. Did you? Was this to help me with the grief I felt at your passing less than a year ago? Oh, my falcon, tell me something! Please, tell me anything you can!_

I could not take it anymore. I went inside the tent finally, letting in the cold air, and quietly went to bed, still crying as I laid my head down on the pillow.


	21. Tied By Loss

I sat in Henry's office, waiting for him to return from his Post-Op duty with Leslie Dish (a nurse that he went fishing with…amongst other things). He told me to stay there and wait for him the night before, saying that he was finally ready to talk to me about things unsaid. I mean, we didn't have the chance to talk yet, but it was coming and we both knew it. I also knew that I had to admit to an affair with Hawkeye (and somehow make Henry forgive him and me for it) and what I did in West Germany. I had to say _something_ about it.

I also knew that Daddy must have talked with him about what we said a couple of nights before and warned Henry about some things (what they were, I could not say, but Radar did mention it). However, I had to explain myself and what I had done instead of letting him talk. It was time. Henry deserved the truth about everything: to repair a relationship that should have been, should not have to falter.

It must have been an hour, at the very least. I looked at my wrist watch, whistling a tune Hawkeye taught me in O.R. the day before (with Frank whining about it and Margaret asking Henry to make us shut up). Then, I looked at Henry's cabinet, filled with booze and cigars, all locked up. I was tempted to ask Radar for the key (I knew that he had a copy because he went after the same things we all do sometimes) when Henry walked in, obviously depressed. He was still in white scrubs, covered in blood, so I assumed the worst had happened to one of his patients in Post-Op.

Henry, I –" I started as I stood up.

"He's gone." That was all he said, interrupting me. It was _all_ he needed to say.

"Oh, Henry, I'm so sorry…"

When Henry sat down – ignoring all else around him, even Radar coming in and out to pick up and drop off paperwork – I did as well, looking at me and trying to see what was behind his eyes, what could be hidden behind those shades of blue. He wouldn't let me through and into to his soul, though. He knew that if he did, I would know what anguish he held and how much pain he felt and I knew that he didn't want that.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked finally, after what seemed to be an eternity of silence, after it seemed like my apology fell on some empty ears.

Henry looked up at me finally. "No, Jeanie, honey," he replied quietly. "We're here to talk about each other, not what's going on in this camp. Not yet. We'll get there in time."

_In time…in time for what?_ It was like Henry wanted to put off the inevitable and what _needed_ to be done, but I knew that he always will come to find it somehow. Like our conversation about the past, why I left him and Lorraine in search of my own life, this will take years to talk about. Maybe, though, we never will get to it. It'll be forever a silent conversation, knowing what we did, but never talking about it. War seemed to make everybody like that, it be damned to hell!

I sighed. "Let me start, then," I said, worried, sighing again. "Henry, I…I know that you're angry with me and in many ways, Hawkeye. I have a feeling that you've been intentionally avoiding me so that you could see me fall on my own face again and see how it feels, which is fine, I guess. I don't know why, I really don't, but when I first arrived here, we should have talked some of this out. I was too involved in finding my place here that I also avoided what was more important to me: my own family and where we're supposed to be with each other."

I wanted to cry, but I forced my eyes to remain dry and to keep their grey color. "Henry, I ran away from you and everything else ten years ago because I could not take it anymore. You were married to Lorraine then. You wanted a family of your own, so there was Janie and Molly, who I saw when I crashed at your house when I visited. But, in the beginning, I was eighteen years old, without a real home of my own, and my own mother was planning on throwing me out in the streets and telling everyone that I was a whore. What would have happened if I went to live with you?"

Henry shook his head, not wanting to talk to me (I could see it), much less answer any question about my mother. But we organized this conversation to happen at this time. He was going to hear it out, even if he didn't talk.

"Henry, I went out into the world the best way I could. I moved to Boston, took four years of nursing in the military, missed the last war by the skin of my ass, and was assigned to an Army hospital in D.C. Then…t-then, they assigned me to West Germany _very_ late in 1946, although my official records say something else, two years later than that, I think. About New Years' of 1947, they sent me to Germany to spy on the Soviets, under a different name. I-I didn't have time to say goodbye to anyone and I felt pretty lousy about it. A-a-and I'm so sorry about it. I missed Molly's birthday and everything, when I promised to fly out and see everybody because I've been out and about all the damned time, being told where to go and what to do. But duty called to me and I was going to ask about some personal time. I had a job to do, though. I accepted it and moved on, forgetting about everything else.

"Goddammit, Henry, West Germany was beautiful, even in the wintertime. And the company I had around me was nice. I was away from everything I knew and was finally finding my footing somewhere. I felt like I was finally free. I mean, I was playing an actress and meeting people I never thought I would. Like, I met this elderly Jewish man who would spend time with me, even knowing how liberal I was and how I didn't really believe in religion or anything like that. In finding that I was trustworthy and a good listener, he would carefully tell me about his time in a concentration camp, praying and hoping for his end to come from the pain and torture, but his God told him otherwise and let him live. His wife and daughter died there, Henry, and he was devastated from the losses. His only living relation was his grandson, Falk, who stayed with him at the concentration camp when all the others had died.

"Falk was a lovely man to behold. He was tall, about six foot and four inches, and had the blondest hair and bluest eyes. He looked every inch a German, or some Aryan race, they said it was all about and barely spoken of. But, even though his father was German and his mother was a Jew, he was condemned to a camp with his grandparents and mother, since his father was already dead. Afterward, he joined the West Germany militia, of some sort, and would joke about it, like Hawkeye does. He was a prankster too. He randomly called for my attention when he put some sort of slippery substance out of the parade grounds one day, and laughed as everyone fell, even though it was an organized parade. That was when I met him, when his grandfather smiled and pointed him out to me. Our eyes met and the rest, they said, was history.

"Falk's grandfather introduced me to him a few minutes later and we hit it off nicely. We talked about everything and nothing, laughed until we cried and even had sex the same night we met. God, Henry, he was everything I could ask for in a person, especially in someone I fell in love with. He _made_ me want to confine in him, so I told him everything and eventually, would want to see him every night, despite my job. But, when we became partners in the spying ring that we were forced to be in, suddenly, things got tricky, for the both of us.

"I can't tell you everything, Henry, but I can s-s-say…how much I loved Falk. He was _the_ perfect companion for me then, even when we were working together and having to be professionals at the art. I worried for him every time he went out. And he went out because I was too high-ranking to go, according to my superiors. I hated guns. I was a nurse and not a killer, so opted not to run out and kill some Russians for information. I liked being the actress, though, and played it well enough then. Now, I don't think so. I lost most of those skills as I went to my next assignment: Korea. I even lost my name when I was over there, Iréne Mountebain.

"When Falk's grandfather died, our relationship turned another page and we grieved together and grew closer. We wanted to be married soon after that, so got engaged immediately after the funeral. It was tasteless, of course, because of how close it was to the death of his grandfather, but I don't know if Falk cared or not because he wanted me and me alone: the last member of his family with the one he cared about the most. That was late in 1949, about a month before our last assignment, so I think it was late October or early November. Colonel Flagg, who was sadly my superior, wanted me out of Germany and transferred to England, if possible, because I was getting pretty hot in Germany. Otherwise, he wanted me to be the nurse and for me to use my real name once more. He had another pawn in mind, apparently."

I stopped my speech and then watched as Henry rose from his seat and went to unlock his cabinet, bringing out two small glasses and pouring gin into it. The alcohol winked at me – telling me, nay, _daring_ me to drown it – and held the solution to all of our problems: forgetting them, if only for a while.

"Go on, Jeanie," Henry replied to all of this, still depressed, his face finally paling: the white body, garbed in red. He offered me the other glass, downing his own quickly.

I got up and took the other glass, gulping it as well before putting it carefully back on Henry's desk. I needed the bravery to tell Henry the story of Bloomington to Boston to D.C. to West Germany to Korea. This was going to help me, sadly enough.

I sighed once more. "So, Henry…Falk was going to Moscow, Soviet Union Russia, on a mission with my minions and Flagg's, as well. Flagg and I made a plan, mostly mine really, but he didn't tell me what it was all about, but only that they all had to get to Moscow and to infiltrate the government in some fashion. Like everything else, I did my duties and assignments without question and without asking what it was for because I thought it was best that way: I didn't want to know how and why. Flagg liked me for it, so continued to work with me until the end.

"Falk, my falcon in the sky, volunteered to be the leader and was granted his wish practically immediately. However, his other request was that it be after the Christmas holidays, so he could spend time with me, and that was granted too. He was hoping to leave me with a child, so just in…i-i-in case he never came back, I would have something of him to remember him by or it could be a surprise he could come back to. But it never came to be, obviously, angry as I was that he was going and worse when he didn't come back.

"I think Falk knew what was going on, chose not to tell me about it, and went with the mission anyhow. It was his duty and I knew it. He would not have it any other way, I think. He was like that: thinking of himself last. And the one time he thought of himself, it cost him a lot more than what he could handle.

"On the morning of December 29, 1949, after a lovely holiday with my Falk – a few days in which I would never forget – he left with the others, to go to Moscow. After this departure, I paced our small apartment every _single_ day, waiting for word from him, like he said he was going to do, to make me stop worrying. But days flew by and no word was sent, not even to Colonel Flagg, and I knew this because I spied on him myself and he knew that as well.

"Well, Henry, late in January, I found out the truth of the matter: the mission was a failure and Falk was dead. The Soviets caught them, took all ten of the people who were sent to Moscow, and lined them up in the basement of a prison, and shot them. They shot Falk first, so I've heard from sources, because he volunteered, and then the others, by a firing squad. And I found this out through Flagg's paperwork, knowing that he was lying to me about Falk when he called me and told me that everyone was dead and that such-and-such happened."

I finally broke down, looking at Henry for help, but receiving none as I continued to sob and talk with a mushy voice. "Henry, I spent months there afterward, doing the same things I've done before, but my heart was not there anymore and I was losing interest. Falk was dead and gone forever. I could not bring him back, but remember the fondest memories of him, like his last kiss to me, even when I was extremely pissed off at him." I paused, not wanting to go on, but doing so anyhow. "Flagg, by then, had enough of my bawling and everything else I complained about and had sent me to Korea, where I am now, because he could not get me to England."

A tear went down Henry's face, so I knew that he was sympathetic, even when his own soul was slowly bleeding. His heart was slowly melting and his jackassery was coming to a close. A heart of stone turned to a melting one.

"This is why you love Hawkeye?" Henry asked finally, when I could not talk anymore after a few minutes of us grieving together, moments I could cherish forever and ever. "He was so much like Falk and that was what attracted you to him. And you can't help but fall in love with him, can you?"

"No, I can't help myself anymore…" I continued to cry, but my sobbing stopped as I tried to breathe like a human being. "I love Hawkeye…no, I'm _in love_ with him. I can't help myself, Henry. I had to keep my life a secret, and am so used to it, that I became defensive even to the ones I love. I haven't really told Hawkeye about Falk yet because I'm not ready to quite yet, although I admitted much to him. Maybe later, when I am ready and so is he."

I hiccupped, a common thing that happens after I sob, but I stopped the next one from coming up (which is pretty tough). "And Hawkeye was helping me stop and to open up. Your _best_ _friend_ was helping me to open up to you, in a way, by getting me more social with everyone. Don't be angry with Hawkeye anymore, Henry. Instead, be the friend you were to him. And don't forget Trapper, too. They're all on your side, despite what they do to wreck havoc in the camp. They want to help you. Those three Majors are not going to have your command anymore and aren't going to put this M*A*S*H unit to shame."

"Tied by loss, separated by distance alone," Henry muttered, who seemed to ignore my words again, but I knew better.

"Grief brings everybody together," I only replied (without the bitterness and anger), getting up and hugging Henry. His arms were immobile, but it was fine with me. "I love ya, Henry. Don't forget that."

It took a few minutes, but Henry slowly worked his arms up and around and finally embraced me back, crying all the while. So, instead of him comforting me, I was doing it for him.

"I love you, too, Jeanie…" was all I managed to understand from Henry's lips, a quivering mouth that was already telling me more than the tears already coming down. "But he's gone, he's gone…he's gone now."


	22. Korea's First 4077th Christmas Season

I finally felt relief, if you want to call it that. I finally talk with Henry and told him the truth about the decade we've been apart mostly (it was there for him, despite everything he was feeling at the time, and he was happier for it). I could _tell_, in the weeks afterward, that Henry was grateful for my telling him the story and being there for him when I needed it, and vice versa. He loosened up, "allowed" me to stay with Hawkeye and started to calm down, going back to the Henry I knew in Bloomington.

A week went by peaceful afterward, happy as ever, despite my lack of moments with Hawkeye (once in the Supply Room was good, but I wanted more and more and the moments were becoming scarce). Christmas preparations were underway again and everybody was actually getting alone, for once. Around the middle of December, Father Mulcahy held a service in the Mess Tent, which had record numbers, allowing us members of the 4077th to come closer together and remember how far away we were from home. Afterward, the orphans from Sister Theresa's Orphanage came inside, given some Christmas spirit from all of us. It went from one poor soul to another, from service personal to Korean orphans.

To me, the season seemed perfect. I danced, laughed and even socialized. I felt like I belonged, even getting along with those who normally don't like me, like the nurses in my tent or even Frank and Margaret. One night, I even got drunk enough (with Henry standing there, shaking his head and wondering how I became such a lush), danced with Frank as Hot Lips looked on with disapproval, and kissed him with passion at the end of the music number.

It made Trapper and Hawkeye laugh, for sure (I heard them, I think, and they claimed they poked fun at Frank later on), but Margaret was not pleased with me. She looked ready to kill me, but could not with the Captains and Henry watching me. I remember seeing as much, even her fist balling up, ready to punch me.

Christmas itself was approaching fast, a holiday full of more spirit, cheer and orphans (not a bad thing, I say!). However, the wounded never stopped pouring in and we were as crowded as ever. Many of them were stuck in our quarters because we had no room in Post-Op. Worse, with more and more wounded with frostbite and blackened digits, we worried about the cold. Our wood supply was slowly coming down to nothing and all we had for supplies were mosquito nets and even sunscreen. Henry was pissed as hell, for sure, and I heard him yell at Radar more and more about getting on the ball and asking for proper winter supplies.

With the cold Christmas season, as well, we all had to team up in tents. My only complaint about all of it was sleeping in the same tent as the nurses and Margaret Houlihan (and Klinger, too, when he was kicked out of the men's tent!) and not with the men. I wanted Hawkeye's warmth for the night and was denied it, aching painfully for more. I could not help myself. I was selfish for it…for once in my life.

One person in all of this mess, however, remained quiet. And he stood in corners, waiting for the verdict to come in about accusations of cheating the U.S. Army, rape and other charges that Daddy piled on him. He was in a V.I.P. tent, waiting for what was going to happen to him next. And since no answer from forthcoming, he paced his tent, getting his meals through the door and being treated as a prisoner, ever since Henry ordered it.

Soon, though, his time would come. He would come out once more before disappearing again.

~00~

Major Simmons was barely allowed of the V.I.P. tent. Guarded by an M.P. and not allowed to talk to anyone as he walked through the camp (to his meals sometimes, latrine trips or whatever) and, most certainly, he was not allowed in the O.R. Henry had barred him forevermore and was willing to go through the investigation, although we were short of a doctor and in need of more M.P.s, which Frank was willing to fight for. However, they never came and we were stuck with the one watching Simmons.

On my way back to my quarters, I always passed Simmons in his tent. I would hear of him complaining of something, demanding to come out or trying to escape his guard, screaming that he only needed to talk to Henry. Of course, this was denied, especially after Simmons tried to run away from the M.P. on his way to the Mess Tent. After this incident – in which Simmons almost blew up the Mess Tent and held hostages, using a grenade as a weapon – he was watched more closely and never allowed out of his tent ever again, even to the latrine. A corner was made for those purposes only.

One month remained until Simmons was going to be transferred to the stockade (heavy labor), as the accusations that Daddy put forth were proven true. Until then, because we were all in a war zone, he was to stay at the 4077th, fed, clothed and cared for by all, officers included. Henry ordered it (a lack of volunteers), usually asking for pairs or groups to see him, with the M.P. present at all times. Of course, it was orders from Headquarters, and, after the incident in the Mess Tent, everybody followed the regulations.

However, soon enough, most didn't want the responsibility of watching Simmons. The nurses stayed away, even Hot Lips Houlihan, and asked that the proper authorities take care of Simmons. However, even with Margaret on the horn asking for more M.P.s, nobody would step up to care for the former doctor.

In the holiday spirit and trying to be nice to an "enemy" of ours, as Father Mulcahy was teaching me (well, I took it to heart), I volunteered for the job of taking care of Simmons. I could not help myself. I had to do something or else Simmons would be let loose again. And I was the one who felt up to facing him.

Nobody liked it, especially Henry, Trapper and Hawkeye. But I was firm in my argument (Father Mulcahy had rubbed off of me and was an inspiration to me), pointing out that somebody needed to help the M.P. before more came to take Simmons away, but with hesitation, of course, they accepted it. They said that I was adult enough to take care of my enemy, with the M.P. watching me, and that I was capable of fighting when I needed it. Of course, I had been pretty damned good at it before. Why couldn't I be now?

"Fight tooth and nail, Jeanie," Hawkeye called to me as I went to Simmons' tent, delivering his first meal of the day. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid to you."

"Sure, honey," I teased, smiling from ear to ear, knowing that Hawkeye was worried, as always. "Like he can do anything to me now! He's as powerless as a newborn, really. It's all harmless, Hawkeye. Don't worry about me!"

Little did I know…little did I know then how powerful Simmons had grown and how he could use it. And I was powerless to stop it.


	23. The Seduction

The ritual of feeding and clothing Simmons (bringing him a tray of Mess Tent specials, perhaps a change of clothes when he stank badly enough that even for the M.P. smelled it from the outside and complained about it) continued for a few days after I volunteered for the job. I was still teased for it, but I didn't mind it at all. However, I knew something was bound to happen sometime if I wasn't careful enough (ah, revenge was a sweet thing to many people, even to me), but that time came soon enough, was _bound_ to come soon enough.

Simmons always sneered when I visited him until _that_ day he saw me. It was one of the last times I saw the Major, one visit out of three: the last sights of the monster I never wanted in the first damned place, the last times I saw him for who he really was.

"What brings you here, little whore?" he asked me when I came in that day, knowing all about Hawkeye and our night in the Supply Room.

_Everybody_ knew about it (camp news, rumor or not, seem to spread rapidly) and said nothing because they knew it was coming, even Henry, I must say. However, to my surprise and even to Hawkeye's, nobody said anything about it (teasing or jokes, I mean). It just seemed like a normal night at the 4077th, even for us. I was pleased.

However, that was not quite the problem I was thinking about at the moment as I looked at Simmons. At the moment, I had no patience for his snide remarks that day and only wanted to be kind enough to being a meal (tomorrow, I was supposed to being him clothes, eww). That was all. So, I replied the best way I could: to remind him of his punishment.

"Major Daniel Simmons…if that is what your name and rank are still…you pulled the book out on us and you are now suffering from our retribution. You are now accused and convicted of fraud, corruption, rape, sexual assault of a U.S. Army officer, assault to _two_ U.S. Army officers and many other charges which I can never remember. You can ask Radar for more information, if you are so inclined."

I put the tray of food down on the small table by his cot, continuing. "You know I'm being nice and volunteering to help this lovely M.P., since nobody else wants to help you and they need extra hands on deck. I also have some spirit left to be kind, but it's given me a new perspective on everything, especially of you, and I thank Father Mulcahy for it."

I paused, thinking. "You have no power, Simmons. You never had any to begin with. Now, why don't you cut down to the chase and tell me why you hate me so much?"

Simmons was not chained or shackled to anything, which made him more dangerous (in my opinion) and this scared me every time I went to drop off his things. Usually, he would ignore me or torment me every time I came in, but, for the first time ever, he would come up close to me, facing me with his icy blue stare. He did it for a while: just leaving me transplanted into the ground with cement around my feet, and stared at me, deeper into my soul.

The feeling of being stuck felt familiar, like I had been there before, but I could not tell where it came from.

After a while, Simmons finally answered me, getting me out of my reverie as he turned his head away from me. "Captain, what I hate more is someone who thinks they have more power than I do. I _despise_ women especially, who think they have the upper hand. When I met you for the first time, I _had_ to make you suffer. I knew you to be one of them."

Simmons turned back to me and then moved closer once more, taking out his finger and tracing my face with it carefully, outlining the old, familiar lines on it.

"Sergeant Grant is now suffering under hard labor at Leavenworth for what he did to an officer, as I've said," Simmons continued, smiling. "Would you allow me to do the same? Would _you_ allow me to rot in a military prison for the rest of my days, degraded down to nothing, just as he was recently?"

This action, this touching of my face with his finger, was making me sick to my stomach. The voice behind it – seductive and secretive, especially at the last sentences – made me want to puke in his face. It made me apprehensive of the situation, careful in everything from that point on.

_Where was Simmons going with this? What's going on here?_

I knew that Daddy mentioned Simmons being a rapist, and I pointed it out to them when listing his charges (or what I knew of them when eavesdropping with Radar). However, I did not expect Simmons to try to do the same to me…seduce me, I mean. It made my back stiffen as soon as I thought of it as we stood there, but there was the _want_ to stay where I was, in order to know the inevitable, just like those times Clarence came to my bedroom at night and sexually abused me. There was no need to scream for help just yet, no need to run away. It was the curiosity that made me want to stay.

_That_ was what made it so familiar, why it made me stay where I was…why I was transplanted by that gaze…

I didn't want to be there again. I was no whore. I was a woman reborn, a woman ready for her next serious relationship. Why was I standing there with another rapist? Why should I tolerate it once more, relive the worst moments of my life: the torment, tears and frustration?

I felt like I had no choice anymore. And that was when a _need_ to escape filled me.

As soon as Simmons turned back to look at me, I spit in his eye in reply (hitting dead center of one), trying to get the invisible slime off of me.

"You damned bitch!" Simmons yelled at me as he rubbed his eye, trying to get my saliva out, his finger off of my face for the time being.

"Damned right, I am one," I replied harshly, knowing that I was tougher than I felt, knowing that I was _untouchable_ to Simmons…or, so I felt. "Touch me again and you'll find out what I can do. I am capable of worse."

"Really, Captain?" Simmons asked as he stared back at me, his initial angry gone and the offending liquid out of his eye. "Are you really as rough-and-tumble as you show? Or, are you just threatening me with that pathetic boyfriend of yours, your idiotic friends and that worthless Commanding Officer you call a father? Even your own blood father and brother can do nothing for you now."

I was fuming inside because of the insults, but I didn't want Simmons to know about it, making him all warm inside. Like what Henry told me years ago, to fight with an idiot was taking yourself to their level and allowing them to beat you with some experience. Simmons was such, wanting me to be at his own level so he could beat me at his own game. However, his game was something I did not expect…something I provoked the last time I replied to him that day.

"Stick it, Simmons…if you know how to," was my only response as I turned on my heel and went for the door, wanting to join Hawkeye in the Mess Tent and be rid of this…this animal for the rest of my days.

It was all I wanted: to join Hawkeye in the Mess Tent and to ask him for some time alone tonight because our first night in the Supply Room had been so special. I wanted to be with my lover, my sweetheart, in order to forget the compassion I was showing to a scumbag who hurt me the most. I was only in the Christmas spirit, after all, thanks to Father Mulcahy. I would come back for more, and show Simmons how I feel, and it'll be over. He'll go to his rat hole in the States and brag about it, even if it is prison. We'll hear about him soon enough and shrug, working on the wounded, as we've always done since Day One, and somehow forget all about him.

However, I did not expect that, when Daddy accused him of those things a while back, Simmons was going to use it to his advantage and, for one last time, commit a crime of the highest humiliation. The stakes had gone higher – he wanted something in the vein of severe revenge, for sure – and all he wanted was the prize. All he wanted was a piece of the pie, to show that he, too, could grab it, share it, and then spit it back out because he had too much of it.

My thoughts were on Hawkeye usually in my off hours and Simmons knew it, _resented_ it. He knew that he had to do something about that egotistical attitude of mine, this constant thought process of mine, before he left us for good.

Before I even opened the door…before I could get back out into the cold winds of Korea and join the real Christmas cheer once more…Simmons lunged for me, his large arms grabbing me by the waist and quickly throwing me onto his cot. I had not realized what he had done until his face – that icy stare – was upon me once more as he jumped on top of me, his pants zipper and buttons coming undone quickly in one flash. His Army boxers only covered him soon enough, green all around and hard underneath it all, and I knew he wanted something quick.

Then, I knew what I was up against.

However, to get out of it was not the problem really. Not to repeat history was the problem I usually had with men that hate me more than anything in life, my stepfather included.

I think Simmons knew it too. That was what he using to his advantage…once more.

I looked up to my captor. Simmons' mouth was drooling saliva down his chin, his eyes slowly turning from blue to red and his face turned bright pink with each heavy breath he took. He sounded like a bull trying to rip my clothes off, a _man_ out of breath and trying to recapture the air that is so readily given to him.

Simmons' appearance – and even the action itself – did not frighten me in the least, because it had been so familiar to me, so much like a routine that I accepted it, regardless of the dangers it posed. I was more surprised, really.

But then again…his words to me were not endearing.

"Do you want to tell me about mercy, Captain Jeanette Morrison?" Simmons asked me, scaring me for the first time in a while as he took a knife to my throat…something totally different from the script. "Do you want to tell me anything, hmmm? No yelling, remember, or your pretty throat will be cut from ear to ear and they'll find you smiling blood."

I said nothing, wanting to scream all of a sudden, despite the new danger of death above me. I wanted some help to come quickly! But at the same time…

_Where is the M.P.? Where is he? When is he coming? I need him now!_

"You have nothing to say, Captain?" Simmons licked his lips, sucking back up the saliva he was dripping from his mouth. "You know the drill, of course, since you've been lovely bait to Clarence Lowes for so long. I've heard so _many_ stories from your stepfather. I knew him briefly, of course. He even showed me pictures of you and your brother, mentioning to me that you're prettier naked than in clothes. Let's see if he's right…?"

"Get off of me!" I yelled loudly, trying to get out of his grip, but failing because his physical hold was tighter than the mental one. "Help me! Somebody, help me!"

"Ahh, such a pity, then, that I have to squish this lovely flower myself," Simmons said out loud, mostly to himself, taking his knife from my throat and dropping it on the floor. Then, he balled his fist and pulled back, a slow motion I could follow, but could not see to the end.

I blacked out once more, thinking about Hawkeye and wishing he could be there to help me.


	24. Prisoner Escape

"Jeanie, wake up! Wake up, honey! Oh, damn, I wish I was here when I could have been. Jeanie, wake up, honey, please!"

There it was…_again_. Henry was telling me to wake up. First, it had been Lorraine when I was sick. Now, it was Henry telling me to wake up and possibly get ready for school.

It was usually serious when Henry did bother to wake me up. On a daily basis (and mostly nights as well), he's at the hospital working or busy trying to make decisions in his own household. I mean, the other week, Molly wanted a swing set and a pony in the backyard and it didn't help that Janie was adding that we needed a slide and another pony, just for her. With Lorraine shopping and Henry babysitting them alone, disaster loomed.

So, while I sat back that afternoon – enjoying doing my homework for Lorraine on the back porch and basking in the sunshine – I watched Henry stutter about, trying to explain that they could not do what Molly and Janie wanted. Then, he finally let down and said he might get the swing set and slide and not the ponies…if Mommy said it was ok. But they had to wait until Mommy got back from the supermarket before a decision was made.

I was being shaken. "Jeanie, wake up, dammit! Are you ok?"

"She'll more be ok if we moved her," a worried voice added, a voice I have not heard before.

_Or have I? It does sound familiar, I guess…_

"Henry, it's not your fault," that same worried voice continued. "Stop worrying. We all should have been with her. Instead, we teased her about it."

"What are you two talking about?" I opened my eyes, realizing, once more, that my dreams were not reality (and how quickly that came!). "Henry, seriously – owww…"

I clenched my abdomen and curled into a ball, wondering why I was in pain…and naked under a blanket on a cot in Simmons' tent in the middle of that idiotic war in the middle of Korea.

Hawkeye, when I saw him, looked at me and then to Henry, worried.

"I can't believe the man escaped, Henry!" he yelled. "We should have had those M.P.'s watching him closer!"

"If we had them, Pierce…if we had them around." Henry sighed, looking just as worried as Hawkeye did. "Jeanie, get dressed, if you can. Your clothes are under the cot, I think. Radar has some paperwork for you to sign. We'll talk when you're done."

I was instantly annoyed with Henry's almost callous voice as I laid there, balling into a tighter fetal position. It sounded so _indifferent_, even if the situation was serious and he couldn't afford to break down in front of everyone (I knew it somehow, not knowing what happened after Simmons knocked me out).

"What are you talking about, Henry?" I then yelled, wondering why I was still in pain and in a nice, naked ball in the corner of a COT…under a BLANKET…and in the middle of a damned TENT, in the middle of a damned WAR in Korea. "Simmons was just here. I don't remember what had happened next, but –"

"That's the point, Jeanie!" Hawkeye interrupted as Trapper came into the tent, briefly letting in some cold air.

"Simmons has been spotted in the village," Trapper said with clenched teeth. "Frank let the M.P.'s loose to go get him. And for once, I'd let him."

"Makes you want to get a gun and hunt him, doesn't it?" Henry asked him.

I knew, by the tone of Henry's voice, that he wanted to do the same (I knew him too well). He was trying to remain as calm as he could before Simmons was brought back, trying _hard_ not to run back to his tent, grab the gun from under his pillow and run off to the next village to find Simmons.

"Why use a gun when I have my bare hands?" Hawkeye exclaimed, reminding all that he hated guns (just as much as I do).

"It's not going to help any," I added, finally feeling some relief from the pain for the moment. I uncurled from my ball and sat up straight, holding the blanket up to my chest, shivering from the cold. "For once, I vote that the M.P.'s do their job and we leave them alone for the time being."

"Oh, dammit, Henry, get her some clothes on!" Hawkeye's fist was balling up, ignoring my logical proposition. "Let's get her to Pre-Op, Trap. She's going to get hyperthermia just laying there."

"I'm f-f-fine," I stuttered, from sheer shame and embarrassment (and from the cold, for sure, even though I felt nothing), as Hawkeye took off his coat (a large feat for him, for sure) and wrapped it around me, the blanket on top, covering everything but my face.

When Hawkeye put his arms around me, to stand me up and steer me away from the scene of the crime, I felt his own shiver. His wasn't just from the cold, though. It was a mix of feelings: fear and white-hot anger. And I knew it.

"_Sure_, you are," Trapper replied as he and Hawkeye helped me keep standing , moving me from the cot and to the door, Henry silently behind them, carefully watching them. "Hawkeye, Henry, she's turning blue. We better get her inside before she _does_ freeze."

~00~

_So, Simmons flew the chicken coup and is somewhere in war-stricken Korea, watching and waiting for another time to strike us. That's lovely…just lovely. Now, what am I going to do while he's on the loose and possibly causing more harm to everybody else? I swear…the man could stop the war and overrun us with the North Koreans and Chinese if he could! If he had the power to destroy us all, he'd do it._

I was lying on my cot in my quarters with the other nurses, musing about the day's events and still feeling red-faced shame at what happened…once more. And I still couldn't believe myself, couldn't comprehend why I did it again.

It was nighttime, a darkness that came early enough in the season, and sleep was escaping me again. I didn't have Post-Op duty the next day, so was allowed sleep, considering, also, what I just went through earlier in the day with Simmons and the great impact it had on not just myself, but everyone around me. However, if wounded came, I was bound to have another shift and work around the clock.

I didn't mind it, but would embrace it and the numbness of feeling, the fleeting thoughts to the wounded and sick that come in. Hell, I was tired of the paperwork I signed all day, tired of _explaining_ to everybody that I had no idea that Simmons raped me or anything else that happened after he knocked me out, the bruise on my face telling them all.

I needed something to keep my mind occupied…

_Oh, my God, though. It's a repeat of history and I knew it from the start. Clarence had taught this clown well, I guess…if what he says is true, which looks to be the case, if he had not looked into personnel files or something. Jesus, the two are perfect for each other, for all I care._

_I feel ashamed, of course. I mean, I let another man rape me and I didn't stop him. What's WRONG with me? I let it happen again and didn't fight back._

_Look what I did to Hawkeye, worst of all! I betrayed his trust, ruined our relationship for all I know. I was raped by another man!_

_I know that Hawkeye knows. The face he made to Trapper and Henry in Pre-Op said it all when I was under examination by the three, with Frank also looking in…as if I need three more men looking into my female parts and poking at them, Hawkeye the least of the problem._

_It was embarrassing enough that Henry explained the birds and bees when I was in puberty…and that was funny really, especially seeing the repeat episode in the Mess Tent a few times at his lectures…but, having him having a look at my plumbing again makes my face red, even now. Trapper was fine, I guess, because Hawkeye trusts him, but Frank's cold fish hands drive me insane, even if he was gloved and announcing that he agreed with everybody else's conclusions and that I should be filing charges against Simmons and how he'll get the M.P.'s on his ass as soon as possible, P.D.Q._

_Hawkeye can't look at me in the face…still!…after everybody agreed with him announcing a rape. What does this tell me? He's worried, angry and full of shame too, knowing that another man touched his woman, his "Love", as he likes to call me all the time._

_And I can TELL that he wants to kill Simmons, like everyone else. What's new? He's gonna have to wait too._

_Maybe my mother is right after all: I _am_ a whore and a shameless one, at that. Margaret probably thought the same when she heard all about it in a meeting in Henry's office, with everybody present _but_ the kitchen sink, Radar at the door most likely._

_Well, then again, Margaret was _very_ sympathetic for once while Frank was thinking about how I deserved it for being careless and not following regulations again, as he told Henry. Oh, the lecture that came from that useless, idiotic mouth!_

_Henry wanted to slap Frank (I knew it) and it showed. He eventually apologized for his words in front of me…when Trapper and Hawkeye were behind him, tapping him on the shoulder and reminding him about what Simmons did with him, when Henry was sent to Seoul, and what he's charged with. THAT shut our Major Burns up pretty quickly!_

_Margaret's eyes, though, looked at me with first anger and then sadness, always knowing and reminding me of what a world this was: ruled by men usually. I know _that_ she thought of it._

_And, for the first time ever, I thought she had my interests in mind. She _cared_ about her nurses and their welfare, despite her obviously selfishness and vanity and snobbish conceitedness. Then, in a flash, her eyes turned hard again, turning back to Henry and reminding him that we need M.P.'s here on the double to search for Simmons, more than what we already have. He was a dangerous man, she said, and he could strike away, and this time, it could be a different nurse. Or, worse, he could kill someone._

_Simmons hasn't hesitated before and I know it. He almost killed me, for God's sake, and he could do the same to anybody in this camp, Hawkeye most of all! I'm worried. I mean, Hawkeye was emotionally hurt by the last ordeal. How can he handle another? Can he handle watching me or anybody else being on the table, being killed even? Or, can I handle him being dead?_

I sat up in my cot, wondering morbidly as I put my hands in my face, trying to hide my tears, sliding down my face slowly. My face slowly turned hot, red for sure, the humiliation still there, the confusion constant on my mind.

_What can I do next? Surely, Simmons is all for Leavenworth. It's written all over his face, written in the stars of fate, if there is such thing. That man is up for some hard labor, like Sergeant Grant. But, the problem of finding him still remains. He's gotta be around here somewhere, hiding near this unit or in the village down the road. Either way, he'll be back here: to torment, to torture and to kill…if he could._

Suddenly, I coughed, trying to gasp for some air. I wiped my tears away (they can come later, when in a more private spot, without camp speculation and rumor whirling around) and looked around. Something around the tent was making it harder to breathe. I couldn't tell what it was, but something was making the nurses' tent super hot and making it super hard to actually get some sleep and breathe properly.

Then, as I turned my head, I saw thick smoke coming from another corner of the nurses' tent.

_Wait, I know this from anywhere. Could this be…?_

"Fire! Everybody, wake up! There's a fire in the tent!" Nurse Baker, waking up from her sound sleep (not out and about with somebody, for once), yelled at the other nurses. "There's fire in the tent! Get out!"

"Oh, God, get out of here! There's a fire in the tent! Where's Major Houlihan?" I heard someone else scream.

Then, there were those thick noises around me – padding feet, cots overturning and nurses yelling for help – and it rolled into one sound: chaos. It stuck to me, made us fear; we were its slaves, made us shudder under its weight, under its whip.

We could not escape it within the panic.

I got up quickly, waiting for the others to leave, and went around the tent, making sure that nobody was sleeping and left behind. Of course, with Nurse Baker's loud and obnoxious voice, we could all wake up and hear her announcement, coughing up the smoke instead of choking in it. It was thanks to her that we were all out on time in an orderly fashion.

Margaret will be pleased to see all of us out of the tent in time, especially with someone on the ball about getting everybody awake in time. And no one was hurt or killed.

I was about to exit myself (no nurse was left behind me, I had checked), running for the door with nothing on but a nightgown and uniform coat on top. As I opened the door, though, a hand went over my mouth, another hand pulling me back into the fire…and to the danger once more.

"It's your time again," was all I heard before I turned around and tried to fight back.


	25. A Legitimate Order

The next day – tired, bandaged and smelling like smoke – I joined the meeting we all had in Henry's office. With Radar spying outside with Klinger (his companion sometimes when I was in the office or not available), I also took note that Henry resided over this meeting, with me, Hawkeye, Trapper, Margaret and Frank coming in to talk about the events from the previous hours beforehand. An M.P. stood at the door with us, ignoring the exchanges, but always at attention, just in case something happened.

Simmons was still on the loose, so oftentimes, we saw an M.P. here and there in the camp, especially around the officers. It was a small comfort, of course, but it can't stop the happenings in the camp.

It was before the sun came up for dawn when Henry called the meeting, about oh-six hundred hours, so everybody looked like a mess, especially me. My dirty hair stuck out in different directions, and I sought to fix it (being in my usual pajamas and such at this early hour did not help matters either), but Margaret stopped me, looking at me with sympathetic eyes once more.

Margaret, too, had a long night. She was the one who looked for me when all of the other nurses came out. She was the one who saw me in the corner of the burning tent, trying to come out and find the door – beaten down, clothes on and burns on my arms – and screamed for help. So, our Head Nurse helped me out despite the danger of fire still, got the four doctors, and there I was, back in Pre-Op, being bandaged and examined once more.

I said that I had clothes on for a reason. Simmons had grabbed me from behind, before I could escape the fire in the tent. But, of course, he had made sure they came back on quickly before anybody found me without them. He forced me to put them on, at knifepoint again, and said not to say a word about it or else he can easily come back and kill me and Hawkeye.

That order was easy for me to obey obviously. I didn't want any of the doctors examining me like that _ever_ again, even if it was serious. I can easily admit to becoming disoriented and knocking my head out on the tent pole before Margaret found me. I could _never_ admit to seeing Simmons again.

Not to mention, how can I explain that I was raped again? And then, I let Simmons get away with it? It was shameful enough the first time. The second time seemed worse, as if death itself could never redeem me. Another time and I thought that I'd easily send myself into a darkened exile.

I looked back at Margaret (thoughts of my own punishment halted for now) and gave her a small smile in reply to her concern. I then saw her soot-covered face, mixed with the green mask she possibly put on hours before, hours before she smelled the smoke. Her hair, too, fell into dirty, thick clumps, hanging limply on the sides of her neck: somewhat graying, but always with that blonde glow that we all recognized.

Frank, always protective of Margaret (no matter how their relationship pushes and pulls), put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her back, causing her eyes to suddenly become cold, hard and Regular Army once more. She looked like she wanted to rant at Henry again about the security in the camp, so waited until the Commanding Officer spoke. Business was business, of course, and we had to get to the bottom of the issue. Henry had to speak out first.

Henry cleared his throat (sitting down when Frank and Margaret did, close to the M.P. in the back of the office), starting with, "Ladies and gentlemen, we need a solution to…the issue at hand, and it's capturing one of our own, or use to be our own, Daniel Simmons, also known as Jacob Zimmerman, who is obviously a, umm, danger to this camp."

I lifted my arms and balled up my fists (even though Hawkeye told me not to when he cleaned up the mess) and banged them on Henry's desk in front of me. While Trapper and Hawkeye next to me winced as they thought of the possible damage I inflicted upon myself once more, Margaret, Frank and Henry jumped with fright at the thought of a possible attack on the officers.

If the situation wasn't so serious, I would have been laughing my ass off.

I said with venom, "And what are we going to do about it, Henry? I'm frightened already and feel history repeating itself once more. I don't _want_ it to keep on like this, especially now."

Hawkeye gave me a look when I turned back to face him, asking a million questions within a sitting. _What__are__you__talking__about__now?_His face seemed to say, looking about confused, concerned even.

Trapper gave me the same face (also wanting to shot me in the ass with a sedative to keep me still, for sure). Instead, though, his seemed to ask me that one question that everybody seemed to have on their minds, but dare not voice out loud: _What__had_really_happened__in__there?_

The two Swampmen didn't want me to be moving my slightly-burnt arms around and becoming stressed out, but if they wanted to achieve that, they were too late. The meeting in Henry's office was making me agitated and the two, knowing them, would keep me in the nurses' quarters (a new tent and our belongings salvaged with nobody hurt, save for me) until it was over because it _would_ irritate me.

"We have the M.P.'s looking for Simmons as we speak, Captain," Frank said from his corner, getting my thoughts off of Hawkeye and Trapper. "They're experts in their art and would stop it nothing. They're sure to find him."

"And if they don't, then what do we do?" Margaret asked Frank. Turning to Henry, she added, "Colonel Blake, I don't want any _more_ of my nurses getting hurt. One is enough. More is pushing it."

Margaret then huffed up, her feathers ruffled. "I want an investigation into this grave matter _immediately_ and all possible places for the prisoner searched, especially in the villages around the camp. And I suggest all enlisted men _not_ on duty to help the M.P.'s. It lightens their duty and gives them more reason to keep the camp safe."

"Say, that's a _good_ suggestion, Major," Frank replied, rubbing his chin (or what looked like one). "The officers don't need to be chasing a criminal. We have more important things to do."

"Yeah, and then what do you do when they find Simmons?" Hawkeye yelled at Frank. "Then you can dance from emergency to emergency, Frank, because we don't have enough firearms for everybody, if that's what you want them using."

"Pierce has a point, Frank," Henry pointed out. "We also can't spare anybody in the camp right now, even the enlisted personnel. H.Q. just sent word about an offensive on Hill 403 again. And this place is under threat of an enemy attack in the next month, so we have to prepare to be moved again. We can't spare anybody here except those…well, trained to be…well, spared."

Trapper groaned. "Another causality of war," he mentioned quietly. Then: "Why can't we just send them magazines to hit each other with? Roll them up and have a fight!"

"It's less of a mess and we won't be needed here," Hawkeye added as he glanced briefly at me, thinking. "Uncle Sam can send us home finally and we can dance another way."

"_Gentlemen_…" Henry started.

"Gentlemen?" Trapper was incredulous, insulted even. "Hey, Hawkeye, did you hear? We're gentlemen!"

"_Captains_, we need to get back to the issue at hand here," Margaret reminded them as I stifled a giggle, trying hard not to make a comment. "And _that_ is finding the criminal terrorizing this camp!"

"Yes, Major, so don't get your panties in a bunch," Henry sighed. "Now, I propose this. Nobody is alone. Make sure we buddy-up and walk in groups. I'm sure, with this camp, it won't be a problem. We're all together and very close. We work as a team and therefore, it shouldn't be an issue to be seen together in public…outside of the O.R., that is"

I clapped (considering Henry lucky that I stayed quiet until that moment, save for the outburst earlier), commenting, "Hey, Henry, that's good for you! You made a good decision today!"

Hawkeye and Trapper joined me in clapping, Margaret and Frank obviously appearing to be disgusted by our lack of seriousness in the situation, mine included. After all, I had been the one attacked, not anyone else…so far.

"Nice, obvious decision, Henry," Trapper said after me. "I applaud you for it."

"Shut up, all of you," Henry retorted, adjusting the collar of his shirt and giving Hawkeye the evil eye quickly, shutting him up before he added anything after Trapper. "Jeanie, that means you, too. Don't run off or anything."

I saluted, making Hawkeye wince again. "Whatever you say, Dad."

"Colonel Blake, what about the enlisted men searching for Simmons?" Frank asked in a whiny voice, incredulous that that meeting was already over and that we were all dismissed, just like that. "Major Houlihan had a good suggestion there. I think you should consider it."

"Not unless you want more wounded in here to work on yourself, Frank, considering not just your trigger-happy attitude, but also the lack of men around the camp. Pierce and McIntyre will have their gloves and magazines blown-up and rolled up. So, I highly suggest that you have your own pistols loaded and keep a watchful eye out."

Henry then looked to the rest of us, sighing, continuing. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're up for a few rough days ahead of us."

"Such encouraging words from the commanding officer," Hawkeye commented as we all got up and turned to leave, him and Trapper taking me by the arms (each on a side) and guiding me out. He then sniffled, a fake sob coming on.

"Well, you heard the Colonel," Frank whined as soon as we got back, Radar pretending to be working on some paperwork on his desk area and Klinger most likely gone elsewhere. "We're up for a few rough days."

"Oh, Frank, it'll be ok," Margaret cooed at him, rubbing his shoulders and back as she went behind him. "We can always pair up, like we did earlier this month. It's cold enough." She cuddled close to Frank, obviously thinking that he could escape the Swamp and camp in her tent for the time being.

"But it isn't _so_ cold, Major," I pointed out as Henry was heard snorting in his office. If it was in disgust, I could not tell, but I bet that he was hearing every word of the conversation because of the reply he gave us.

"What difference does it make?" Henry called from his office. "Just follow orders!"

"This is the first time I heard the Chief saying something," Hawkeye muttered. "Come along, kids. Let's go home or check in on the office. There's bound to be something to do."


	26. To Face the Fear

Later that night, after dodging five M.P.'s around Post-Op (I had a shift and they were watching me closely on Henry's orders, but they were always in the way of everything and I was getting highly annoyed by their bumbling actions around the beds), I quietly snuck into the Supply Room. God, Henry's had them around me since we had that meeting in his office earlier in the day. Of course, he seemed _too_ concerned for me that I had what seemed like a million M.P.'s up my behind. I didn't appreciate it, but it helped sometimes when I was looking at shadows and jumping at everybody behind me, even Kellye, who was my friend.

Simmons had made me that way, but I wasn't going to let him rule my life by fear. I had to run and face it.

Since I promised Hawkeye a night in the Supply Room (hopefully, we were going to be alone and the coat hanger on the door heeded), I had to find _some_ way to get the hell out of the M.P.'s sight. I found my window of opportunity when another one of their kind came in and said that they had spotted Simmons around the camp and that Klinger was hindering their efforts.

"Damn fool was in a dress again," the M.P. mentioned at the end of my shift as he and the others started for the door of Post-Op, "and the heels that he was wearing broke as he ran, had him tumbling into the latrines' side wall. Created a whole mess of men behind him, some sort of traffic jam. It disturbed Major Burns, who was inside reading his _National__Geographic_, tipped the whole thing over. After getting this fugitive, we have to clean it up, on Major Burns' orders."

So, as they turned their backs to see to Simmons (and Klinger and Frank, if I must say, despite the mess), I ran in the opposite direction. Dropping off my reports for the night on the desk and letting the next nurse know what was going on, I ran out of Post-Op.

Even without the M.P.'s bothering me, I was also in charge of supplies for the next week and a half, so I also grabbed a clipboard with the recent supply lists from the desk on the way out of Post-Op and did my duty for the night quickly before Hawkeye came. Work always came before play, of course, but doing that work as fast as possible was always a plus. It made time blow by and the long-awaited event come closer.

Hell, it didn't take Hawkeye long to find out I was there, though, and, after a few minutes of checking the supplies, thinking out what we needed and what was missing, I heard a door open and close with a _clang_ behind it and felt some arms around me…a small bite on my neck. A surge of energy went down through my body and I giggled. I knew who it was.

"I thought you'd never come," Hawkeye said, nuzzling his face into my pillow of hair.

"You know I always will," I replied, finding his ear with my teeth as I turned my head to find him, our heads connected together finally. "I seem to have a canny ability to find a way out, even with the guards on my tail."

"Oww, Jeanie," he teased back. He went for my neck again, ignoring my last sentence.

I then dropped the clipboard, finding nothing new to report to Margaret about the supplies…for the time being.

"Oww what, Hawkeye? Did I hurt you that badly?"

I made sure that Hawkeye missed my neck as I turned around and practically jumped deeper and deeper into his arms, panting in his ear with quick breaths and whispering how much I loved him and that we need a quiet, shadowy corner…_quickly_.

I got my wish within an instant. Hawkeye, walking backwards with me still in his arms, led me to the most concealed corner of the Supply Room, where shelves met each other to make a tidy crevice. There was a space for us and privacy within reach.

Within seconds of being there (no, it was milliseconds, I should say, since seconds seem too long of a time), we danced to an ancient familiar tune, the same from the last time we were there: dangling our legs here and there like puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly, tangling our arms in embraces that we could barely get out of. The kisses were as delicious as ever and the ecstasy of it was _amazing_.

Despite the cold Korean winter (and taking all of our clothes off), the two of us enjoyed each other immensely that night. For me, being in Hawkeye's arms melted away all of my senseless troubles, fears and stress. The heat warmed me up immediately. My ear next to where his heart was comforted me after a few minutes of teasing games and love. Being close to him, all and all, was making me _complete_, the same way Falk made me. Being totally in love and –

Still completely naked and warm under a blanket as the heavy winds rocked the building back and forth with ease, the both of us suddenly jumped when we heard a _crash_ on the other side of the Supply Room.

I scampered back into my discarded clothes immediately after throwing the blanket to one side (damning Margaret and her regulations on not using supplies without proper authorization first). Hawkeye followed my example just as quickly as he cursed under his breath about privacy and the cold and wind. He then hurdled close next to me (dressed in record time) when we heard another _crash_. And that time, it was closer to where we were sitting. However, we saw nothing: no shadows, no animals coming out or even the feel of the bitter wind coming through the cracks of the building.

"It's not Henry," Hawkeye whispered frantically as I jumped again, wrapping his arms around me once more and chewing on my left ear. "He wouldn't do that to you, would he?"

"No, he knows better." I squinted again, looking in to the opposite side of the room, trying to figure out what could make so much noise. "Henry would have been tripping over everything and making himself known by now because he's so clumsy and uncoordinated sometimes. Plus, you're a friend of his. Would he do this to _you_? No, he wouldn't. He's more sensible and has more taste than that."

"Trapper is sleeping and Frank is with Hot Lips," Hawkeye added.

"Maybe it's a mouse or an animal or something?" I suggested, my heart suddenly turning to fear when I realized that my words were hollow: a lie, for sure. I knew who it could possibly, but I didn't want to say anything to Hawkeye about it. I wanted to keep the moments as blissful as possible and ignore the noise on the other side of the room. I wanted to stop time and go back five minutes, keeping time at the moment where my head laid on Hawkeye's bare chest, my cheek at his own heart, but I could not. I was hopelessly being pushed into the future.

Hawkeye shook his head (he knew it was a possibility, but not likely) as he backed away from my ear, his arms losing their grip around my body.

"Let's get out here," he finally concluded, not wanting to know about what the source of the noise was. "Check on the supplies again, satisfy Major Baby and meet me back in Post-Op. I'm sure Henry is going crazy just trying to find us again. We've been missing for a while now and the fuss about Frank's latrine adventure should be over now."

I nodded with agreement, watching Hawkeye exit the Supply Room quickly, jogging and then running away, the coat hanger in his hands as soon as he grabbed the doorknob. Then, I myself looked from the doors to the other side of the Supply Room again, staring into the darkness.

"You can come out now, Simmons," I said to the jumping lights and shadows, addressing them as if there was really someone there…if it was so. "We're done here. Show's over. You can go outside and meet the M.P.'s and Klinger, if you so choose to. Otherwise, stick it. You've caused enough trouble already, with your attacks, arson and Tom-peeking. It can stop now."

I got up and walked towards the trouble – idiot I am, as always – and then stopped. _Was__it__worth__it__to__confront__him?__What__could__I__do__that__a__group__of__M.P.__'__s__could__not__do?_

I knew that Simmons was there somehow, watching and waiting. There was no doubt in my mind. However, it was time to face up to my deepest fears. No man should be controlling my life like that: controlling my fears and controlling the strings of my mind and heart. I was my own woman and should not let somebody shadow and direct me…making me jump…playing with my mind. It was time for that to stop, because history could not be repeated for a third time. I could not afford it anymore.

I was headstrong. I would get out of it alive. I am a survivor.

I ran towards the action, my fist ready to strike.


	27. Major Simmons is Captured

The next morning – after all of those nightmarish, surreal events and yet another sleepless night watching out for myself – I was called into Henry's office. It was eleven hundred hours when I was summoned by Radar (who was doing his daily runarounds, calling all of the major officers and handing out mail at the same time) as I laid on my cot, shocked and without feeling. Bubbling underneath was…nothing. There was barely anything left of me.

Dear God, I knew that it was about an hour before an afternoon of blood, more blood on my hands and not on my legs. There was to be more redness on my hands, on those white, gloved hands that skillfully reached over to help save yet another person's live. Yet, I could not stop it. It was to keep coming and coming until…until…until I am dead and gone.

_Does it matter how anymore? Simmons will be coming for more and more and will never stop it until I am gone forever. Next, after me, it'll be Hawkeye and then Henry, for sure, because they are close and dear to me. Then, who knows who is next on his hit list? It could be Trapper and then Margaret and Frank, or even Radar and Klinger. I don't want anybody to get hurt, no matter how much I hate them…not even the nurses in this tent or the next one. I'd rather it be just me than anyone else._

Sighing and barely registering being asked to go to Henry's office, my mind thinking about the coming wounded. I knew that we had a short time before they came, for I-Corp phoned the hour before (again, news from Radar), to warn of an upcoming offensive (Seoul had been overrun by the North Koreans and we were pushing them back and forth), the last before the tradition holiday armistice, which might never come. Hell, the capital of the Republic of Korea was occupied and we were still fighting. I didn't think even the most joyous of holidays would stop the war, even for a while.

There were two days left before Christmas with our orphans, another celebration with them for total cheer, and yet, there I was, being summoned to Henry's office. _To__what__end?_ He always called me and nothing much is accomplished, so it seemed. Sure, we talk and have meetings and things are accomplished, albeit comically. But when have they been good, save for me telling Henry the truth?

Sitting up – staring at the door of the new nurses' tent while the others chattered and gossiped about their mail – I sighed again.

"What's going on, Radar?" I asked with indifference, not wanting to hear any bad news, but bracing for it anyhow. "Why am I being called to Colonel Blake's office again?"

"There's, umm, good news," Radar answered carefully. He was not good about keeping secrets, but a smile seemed to have betrayed his feelings that whatever he _wanted_ to tell me _was_ good news, indeed.

"Unless there's peace to the war, Radar, I don't really wanna hear it…"

I trialed in my sentence on purpose and then, seeing the company clerk's confused, youthful face, continued. "Radar, just tell me. It's not like I'm going to be enthused about going 'home' because the Army will probably sent me elsewhere and not Stateside. Even if I went 'home', I'd move out as quickly as I could. So, just tell me."

"Geez, umm, Captain, the Colonel told me not to tell you what I know and what he knows because he'll know what I told you already and it'll be known across the camp…Sir."

Radar then smiled again, his talk spinning my head already. His confusing words whirled, though, and did not make much sense other than Henry was talking nervously again.

"All right, all right…I'm up, I'm up. You don't need to persuade me further."

God, it still hurt down there, the blood trickling down my legs again as I got up from my cot, to remind me of the night before, after Hawkeye had left me and expected me to come back. Hell, even my shoulder was hurting and it hadn't been bothering me since it came out of the sling the month before. After trying to fight back, I didn't think that weak spots would be used against me.

The old hurts were coming back quickly and were reminding me, somehow, that my time was slowly running out.

Grabbing another layer, to put underneath my coat quickly (it had gotten colder outside, worse than ever before: ten degrees), I followed Radar outside into the cold and wind and to Henry's office. The both of us walked quickly, but also kept sliding and falling, knowing that hell had truly frozen over. Indeed, the cloudy skies above us were sleeting and not snowing: a hard, cold rain that made the ground more slippery.

_It's bound to make tending to the wounded harder…dammit._

Finally, Radar and I entered the office, closing the door quickly when the wind picked up (it took the both of us to close the door and it took some effort, trust me). Turning around when we were finished, I saw Margaret, Frank, Hawkeye, Trapper and Klinger, waiting outside of Henry's office. Trapper and Hawkeye were huddled together snickering, as were Margaret and Frank (except they were cuddling, not snickering), and Klinger stood alone, wearing a pair of broken high heels (if I can call them that) and a female Army dress uniform and thick brown coat (his slip was sliding down his legs) and holding his rifle in one hand, a parasol in the other.

Twirling the parasol inanely as he put down the rifle in a corner, Klinger came over to me, walking awkwardly in the broken pair of shoes.

"Captain, do you know what's going on?" he asked me, his tone excited. "Did you hear what happened this morning?"

"Radar said some mumble-jumble about not telling me something that he and Colonel Blake know, but nothing else," I answered feebly, shrugging my shoulders and still hoping that the blood would not show on my pants. I was worried, because it was coming down into my boots and I could feel it.

"Seems like we're just having an office party, then," Trapper said from his corner.

"If it is, then we need some wine," Hawkeye added with a smile. "This place is an ice box needing some of it. It could also hold it for a few more years."

"I've heard nothing," Frank chimed in afterward, ignoring the Captains and still holding onto Margaret. "Have _you_ heard anything, Margaret?"

The Head Nurse, shivering even in Frank's arms, sighed. "Well, Corporal Klinger here said that there was some _excitement_ last night…"

"And I hope he keeps his fly _shut_."

The doors to Post-Op opened and in came Henry, who looked tired out from finishing up a shift. "Oh, and Klinger, your slip is showing."

Klinger saluted, pulling the offending fabric up under his skirt as he took the parasol and lowered it, tucking it under his arms. "Thank you, Sir. Would you need me to stay here, Sir?"

"No, that would be all. You did a good job last night."

Klinger took the hint and left with his rifle and parasol, back into the cold (he, too, had a hard time closing the door and Radar had to help him). Then, with the Corporal gone, we all turned to Henry for the news we've been waiting for.

Henry sighed. "Come on everybody, let's head inside and talk. I have some good news."

"Has MacArthur surrendered?" Hawkeye asked, his eyes twinkling as we officers, plus Radar (after he was finished helping Klinger) went inside his office.

"Have the North Koreans sent us back our latrines?" Trapper questioned immediately afterward.

Henry sighed again as he went to sit by his desk. "After this morning's 'disgraceful' behavior and Major Burns' complaint about it, you two had better shut up."

I walked right next to Hawkeye and pulled up a seat between him and Trapper as we came before Henry's desk. Giving Hawkeye a questioning stare (and STILL hoping that my legs were not showing red), I received a smile as a reply, Hawkeye giving me a face that said, _I__'__ll__tell__you__later.__You__'__re__sure__to__laugh!_

When everybody was seated and settled, Henry started. "All right, everybody, like I've told Radar to tell you, but not tell you specifically what it is, I have good news. I know that he knew and knew not to tell you, unless I knew about it and told him to tell you, so here you are."

"Good speech, Henry," I shot out, clapping.

"Shut up, Captain!" Frank yelled at me.

Henry shot me a vicious look, telling me, too, to shut up and to keep my sarcastic comments to myself, and then continued. "So, everybody, to make this meeting short, this morning, after Corporal Klinger sacrificed his life – not to mention, his other pair of high heel shoes and Scarlett O'Hara dress – Major Daniel Simmons, also known as Jacob Zimmerman, was captured and manacled. He was handed to the M.P.'s at oh-six hundred hours this morning and now is on his way to Leavenworth."

"That's good news, Colonel!"Margaret exclaimed, her eyes glowing with a light that I had never seen before. "My nurses are safe at last!"

_Oh, if only you knew, Margaret. If only you knew about last night, then you wouldn't be rejoicing this early. Or would you? Would you think I deserved such a fate, trice in a row? How would you feel, if one of your nurses was hiding such a disgraceful secret that might be the ruin of her once more?_

"Yes, indeed," Frank added, smiling. "Colonel, I told you that the extra M.P.'s around the camp would help. And what happened? See? We're now safe from our domestic enemies. Now, if you could please put this much effort into the camp, then we'd be safer."

"You mean, _you_ and Hot Lips here will be safer," Hawkeye commented with another snicker.

"Considering you and McIntyre tarred and feathered the Holy Bible and pasted my mother's picture with mayonnaise and spam on the tent's ceiling, _you_ would ask for more security on yourself and your belongings," Frank whined hotly. "You both not _only_ wasted Army supplies, but also destroyed others' belongings. According to the regulations –"

"Psst, Frank," Trapper interrupted, "it wasn't us. It was the butler. He told us the mayonnaise and spam just made the picture stick better."

Despite my dark mood and worry about the blood, I laughed (I couldn't help it either). Nor did I try to stifle it, for I wanted to show the Majors another side to me, something they hoped the squash out of every nurse (or, I should say, personnel) around: a sense of humor.

Margaret gasped at the actions, stomping her foot as she sat, another temper tantrum coming up.

"Colonel, do you hear this disrespect?" she screeched.

"I do, Major, I do." Henry rubbed his forehead. "I'll process your complaints later with Major Burns. Radar, get the forms for that. Also, get the forms to request supplies, those that would ask for replacements for Klinger's dress and heels."

Radar was already gone, repeating everything that Henry ordered the moment before.

Frank then looked after Radar as he left, quickly forgetting what Hawkeye and Trapper had done earlier. He even ignored Margaret for a moment.

"That little weasel knows too much," he said in a low voice.

"Well, that 'little weasel' also helps to run the camp," Henry commented, continuing to rub his forehead. "You're all dismissed except for Pierce, McIntyre and Morrison. Frank, see me later about your complaints."

"Yes, Sir, I will. You can count on that."

"I bet…"

Frank and Margaret then got up from their seats and saluted Henry (he barely acknowledged them, as per usual). Both walked out together, entwining their arms together when they thought they were out of sight. But it was obvious they did as we looked through the windows on the office doors, watching them passionately kiss before finally separating, Margaret going into Post-Op and Frank going outdoors.

Henry sighed again and got up, going to his cabinet and taking out four glasses and a bottle of liquor. Sitting down again and pouring the alcohol into each glass, he handed them out, asking Hawkeye and Trapper, "Ok, you two…why did you do it?"

Giggling again as I picked up my glass and drank deeply (to forget my troubles once more, to forget that I had a puddle of blood in my boots), I listened to Hawkeye answer.

"Frank didn't follow the new commandment," he said, laughing.

"What new commandment?" Henry sipped from his own glass.

"Thou shall not complaineth to the commanding officer," Trapper added, laughing too.


	28. Drinking to Forget

The holidays went and were gone before we knew it, the New Year of 1951 before us. The weather remained cold, the orphans were still very adorable (Hawkeye played Santa Claus, but had to drop in on the Front for the next hour, coming back changed, asking me for some time in the Supply Room later on) and the wounded kept coming. Although Christmas Day was quiet itself, save for our party in the Mess Tent, the next night brought time in the O.R. Over thirty hours later, we were released from our duty, but more wounded came within the hour. Another twenty-four hours on our feet brought me and Hawkeye to the Officers' Club. After about an hour's worth of drinking, we both fell asleep in each others' arms, right by the jukebox. Trapper covered us up with a blanket, keeping all other people out so that we could sleep.

Before I knew it, it was December 29. It marked the first anniversary of Falk's final departure from me, and possibly it being the day of his death, if he reached Moscow that day. I still didn't tell Hawkeye about him yet, but, instead of talking it out (Sidney Freedman, the psychologist who likes to visit us, was around on Henry's request, and I wanted to avoid him), I decided to disappear for the day, knowing that there was no wounded coming. Radar informed me before I left after my shift in Post-Op, so I took the opportunity to run for it…before anyone got to me.

A bar had just opened, owned by a Korean woman named Rosie, and all of the soldiers nearby were raving about it, Dean included (he stopped by, safe and sound to tell me, before he had to leave again). So, I decided to check it out. It was a short walk from camp, about five minutes, so I had time to pay some attention to a local business.

Dropping into the bar shyly and avoiding a fight in the corner (both were Marines, who fell through the window with some cheering from one side of the bar), I went to the counter. Rosie (I knew it was her in an instant), who was standing there cleaning glasses, noticed me and motioned me to a seat quickly. I obeyed, seeing the kindness in her eyes, and smiled at her when I sat down.

"What will it be?" Rosie asked me, putting down a clean glass.

I put down some Army script, about thirty dollars worth I had earned in my pay the day before. "Whatever I can get out of this," I replied, wanting to get a little buzzed and forget for a while. "If I get drunk before my financial limit is over, keep the change. I don't want it."

Rosie looked down at the money on the counter and then back at me. "Gin?" she asked.

"Hold the rocks. I want it as warm and as bitter as possible." I smiled at her again, almost laughing because she seemed to have known what drink I love the best. "I just want to forget some things for a little while before I go crazy again."

Rosie took a bottle from behind her and poured me gin into the glass she just cleaned. "Are you forgetting somebody you loved?"

I laughed sullenly finally, taking the glass from her when she was done pouring. Raising it, as if to toast her, I replied, "Yes…to forget him and the pain I always feel whenever I think about it. Cheers, Rosie, and may this last for a while!"

~00~

Hours later, when night had fallen and I was all but cold (I was beyond feeling any of the cold, to be honest), I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder behind me. Still slumped over the same spot on the counter, drinking yet another glass of gin and feeling my mind reeling from the pain of losing Falk, I felt my seat being turned around. I thought it was Hawkeye, sent out to get me out of the bar to sober me up, but it wasn't. I couldn't focus on person in front of me, but all I could see were grey eyes, staring at me with worry, I think.

"Come on, little sister, it's time for you to get back. You need to sober up before anything serious happens to you or to the camp."

The voice seemed familiar and it took me a few minutes to figure out who it was. And when I did figure it all out, I was ashamed. It was my brother Dean, who finally came back to me, safe again…and somehow away from the Front Lines and not on duty.

"Aww, Dean, do I-I-I have to?" I slurred. "I just…just…just got h-h-here…"

I sounded like I was a child again, caught in another mischievous act, asking if I had to stop my fun all of a sudden. I felt like I was back in at Blake residence, getting out of trouble with Mom and Clarence again, and Dean was trying to get me to stop what I was doing before something chaotic happened to us.

"Henry has been looking for you for ages and ordered that, if you were drinking, to cut you off before you got into more trouble." Dean shook his head, pulling me up from my seat and hooking my arm over his shoulders, as if he was ready to pick me up. Then, looking up over my shoulder to where Rosie was, he said, "Thanks for watching out for her, Rosie. Next time, don't let her drink so much. She doesn't need anymore."

"But…but…but, Dean, I put t-t-thirty down…"

Dean picked me up from my seat easily enough and put me over his right shoulder. Holding me by the ass with his large left hand, he turned around, allowing me to face Rosie when he walked out of the bar with me.

"Bye bye, Rosie," I called back, waving to the bartender who helped me.

"Oh, God, little sister, what have you done now?" Dean continued to carry me back to camp, the ground below me making me dizzier by the minute. "What's making you drink so much? You never did this before. Well, then again, this is your first war really. I heard about West Germany and Falk from Henry, who was worried about you and told me about everything." He paused. "Is this it? Are you upset over your first love?"

I was feeling dizzier by the minute and, all of a sudden, I wanted to throw up. I didn't even think to be upset at Henry for babbling to my brother about what we talked about.

"Jeanie, are you ok?" Dean passed under the entranceway sign to the camp (sighing, I think). "I'm dropping you off at the Swamp with Hawkeye and Trapper. They'll sober you up better than I can. Right now, I don't think I have the time and patience. I don't think I can handle taking care of you."

He paused again. "At this point, I don't know what to do with you anymore. I'm at a lost, but am just as worried about you. You're been quieter than ever before. Ever since Major Simmons had been captured, you're drinking more and more, especially with Hawkeye in the Officers' Club. Hell, I know what Simmons did, Jeanie, and I'm not happy about it. You filed the paperwork and he went to Leavenworth for all of his crimes and justice seems like it's served. However, it isn't satisfying me. I want more out of him. I want his _ass_."

I gagged, trying not to throw up, but drool was dribbling out of my mouth. It didn't help my stomach, so I tried sipping it back up, failing miserably. Finally, I spit it all out, a trail making a long mud puddle out of the beaten, dirt path.

"Jeanie, I know you're listening to me, in some way. I know you understand me. So, don't worry about it right now. When you're ready to talk, you'll talk. Major Freedman is here and he'll help you, I hope. And I want you to talk to him, ok?"

A door to a tent finally opened and closed. With Dean still holding me, I heard some words above me being said, worried tones being expressed. Then, a few minutes later – blurry images on the ground and my stomach not feeling any better – I was put on a cot, soothing words being said to me, a hand on my forehead. I didn't know who was with me or whether or not Dean was there or not. All I knew was that I wanted to throw up, my problems were still there and I still hurt everywhere: mind and body.

I closed my eyes, trying to forget everything again, but failing. All I saw was Falk's figure coming within my sight, putting a finger to his lips, silencing me before I said anything. Then, he motioned me forward, as if he wanted me to follow him, and turned away from me, walking.


	29. Please Don't Tell Them!

I blew out some air from my mouth, frustrated. I had been sitting in the V.I.P. tent for some time (a few hours, I think), conversing with Major Sidney Freedman. A few days after my drunken stupidity at Rosie's Bar (of which I'll never hear the end of from Henry, the lectures beginning as soon as I was barely sober in the Swamp to even just before I sat down with Sidney), Henry had ordered me to talk with the Major, so I agreed to do so. I went into his tent after Major Freedman sat with me in the Mess Tent earlier in the day, asking me to join him in his temporary quarters after my lunch was eaten. Of course, I could not object and accepted his offer of "friendship", knowing that some devious conspiring was in the air.

I was right (naturally), but avoided everything that had to do with my life. I talked in circles for a while and kept quiet other times. Whether it confused the Major, I could not tell. He was a master at controlling his feelings (especially at poker, from what I've been told as well) and only wrote a note or two on a notepad when he felt it was appropriate.

Major Freedman was kind to me, as he is with all of his "patients". Prodding at me to talk about my troubles and doubts that whole time, he tried probing into my mind, finding the root of the problems I seem to have, but found out that my family was just plain crazy, in the most dysfunctional sense. Otherwise, he saw that there was nothing more to it and that the best solution for me was to leave my family behind (save for Dean) and to move on with it. I didn't need to see them anymore.

"I can't say that the Army is the best place for you to be right now, considering everything," he added. "Of course, with holes in your records and only the words of the people who know and love you, I can't say anything. Captain, you don't talk to too many people. Only Hawkeye and Henry have been able to get anything out of you and only sometimes. I barely have anything out of you. Why is that? Why talk to a few selected people? Are you too distrustful of everyone here?"

I hesitated, like every other time he's asked me a question, and sighed, answering as carefully as I could. "Major, you can call me Jeanie, first of all. Secondly, I don't know the answer to any of your questions without having time to think about it. It's not like I've said the luxury of having that in my life."

I paused. "I've known Henry since the beginning of time, it seems. Well, I was maybe ten when we first met and that was about the last time my mother and stepfather moved us and finally decided to settle down. I don't remember. And Hawkeye…well, if you hear anything from Dean and Henry, you'll know the story about Falk and what I was doing, living in the middle of one side of Berlin, West Germany. They…Falk and Hawkeye…are too much alike and I fell in love."

Major Freedman raised an eyebrow. "You mean, you fell in love with another person with the same characteristics?"

"Yes and no," I replied, talking more easily than ever more. "It's not that I imagine Hawkeye as Falk, but that the two seem to be almost the same, like the former love sent me the latter. Well, it's skeptical, of course. Father Mulcahy can answer that question for me, if I asked."

I laughed: hollow and bitter, in many ways (mostly at the absurdity of the idea of an afterlife for humanity, briefly remembering the family curse for a second). "Major, we've been in circles for three hours now. Why are bothering to talk with me? There's nothing wrong with me really."

"I thought I was the one who was supposed to ask questions." Major Freedman smiled. "You can call me Sidney, if you want. And if you want your answer, why don't we talk it out? See if you can figure it out."

"Other than having so many issues in my life and no stable figure, so to speak, I can't see anything else wrong with me." I shook my head. "Well, there was Henry and his wife and kids. He wanted a life of his own eventually, so I left the area after I turned eighteen. It's been over ten years now. I still want him to talk to me like he used to. But, he's not readily available all the time. And with the war on our doorstep all the damned time, it's tough to talk to him, especially when he's upset and we're working around the clock. There's a camp to run. And there I am, alone once more, and seeing another person as the 'love of my life' again."

"What else?" Sidney gently prompted.

"Unsolved issues in my life keep popping up, especially with the former Major Simmons, I've noticed recently." I sighed again. "I feel like history is being repeated again, especially seeing as how I acted the same way I did when my stepfather was molesting me and that I was unwillingly cheating on Hawkeye three times and –"

I stopped suddenly and gasped, putting my hands to my mouth. I didn't realize what I had done until the words poured out of my mouth.

Sidney only looked at me, stoic and not showing any emotion whatsoever. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked me quietly, knowing what I was talking about instantly.

"No," I whispered. "Don't tell them…please. I don't want them to know. I don't want to be embarrassed anymore. Please don't! Hawkeye will be devastated. Henry will be disappointed in me again."

I was pleading at Sidney at that point, so pathetic did I sound. "Don't tell them, _please_."

The Major only continued to stare at me, thinking and not writing anything down, like he did before. Slowly, though, he explained, "I will not. It'll have to be _your_ decision when to tell Henry and Hawkeye or whoever else you trust. You have to trust _yourself_ to be honest with them and to tell them exactly what happened. However, it has to be when _you__'__re_ ready, not when they are. They themselves have to be prepared for the worst, since they already have heard what was thought to _be_ the worst of your life."

Sidney paused, thinking. "Already, Jeanie, you've suffered from abuse, rape, molestation, death, disappointment, love, loneliness and even alcoholism. You can't deny anymore that you've had more than your fair share of the negative side of life. However, you've braved through it for years and now, you seem to relieve yourself by telling others finally."

"Yeah, like it helps to make anything better," I pointed out, recovered enough from my shock as I put my hands back in my lap, acting somewhat like what a lady is supposed to…or so my mother says.

"It seems to," Sidney agreed. "Just keep at it. It's helping you obviously and you're opening up to others you barely know."

"But that was only to Hawkeye…"

"Who you barely knew from the start," Sidney finished for me.

Before I could reply (I had a sarcastic remark ready to whip out again), I heard the familiar P.A. announcement, something I had been waiting for: "Attention, all personnel: it's thirteen hundred hours and lunchtime is over. We have wounded on the compound, coming on the ambulance, chopper, bus and jeep. All shifts are required for this one, on the double! We're in for a long one!"

I got immediately from my seat, springing into action. "Want to scrub up and help us?" I asked Sidney as he put his paperwork down.

"If I'm needed," was the answer I received as I ran out without thought (I was switched into a more professional mood) to join the crowds coming in from all sections of the camp.

I caught up with Hawkeye immediately on my way out, helping him with a wounded man at a jeep, whimpering in pain from a wound in the leg (I felt so sorry for him).

"This one can wait," I heard him say to the medic nearby. "Get him to Pre-Op though. Where's the damned bus? Jeanie, help the medic here get the Sergeant here into Pre-Op and come meet me at the bus, wherever the hell it is."

"Sure, Hawkeye," I replied, all in one word, going for the stretcher as Hawkeye ran in the opposite direction, where the bus was coming in slowly enough, the driver avoiding the ice sheets on the ground.

However, as soon as I turned around to help the medic with the wounded man and take one end of the stretcher, I felt the blood drain from my face. I was very dizzy and nauseous and felt like I wanted to faint dead away (no pun intended). The feeling lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to waste time and precious lives. And I didn't need it.

"Captain, are you all right over there?"

The medic must have seen what happened and was making sure I wasn't turning chicken on him by the large amount of blood within my sight. I, however, didn't want him to see my short period of weakness. We had a job to do. I had to be strong for everybody, myself included.

"Yes, Sir," I replied back to the medic at the jeep, the feeling of sickness rushing out as quickly as it came to me. "Let's get this man into Pre-Op and let Major Houlihan look him over."


	30. A Loner Walker

The hours passed slowly in the O.R. (we had another session that lasted for almost three days), the New Year coming to us as Radar announced it over the P.A. exactly at midnight. In return, the unit, after the wounded came by and were settled in, had a belated gala to celebrate the coming of the year 1951 before more wounded came to the compound. We had, of course, missed it by a few days and were too busy to celebrate, but with the short time given to us, the 4077th had given a party like no other, save for the call Majors Burns and Houlihan put through to Seoul when things seemed sillier (and everybody drunker).

Of course, after talking to the General who came by to bother us (Barker was his name, bastard he will remain to me, at least), Henry saved the day and invited said General to the New Years' party to drink. Then, the wounded came (and how quickly people sobered up!) and Barker was then obliged to help us in the O.R. until things settled down again.

After the session, General Barker left us, tired and stiff, just like last time. He suggested (again!) to get rid of Frank Burns, but Henry could not afford it at the moment. After the events whirling around the former Major Simmons (who is situated in Leavenworth, so I heard), I don't think that our Commanding Officer would want to go through another parade of doctor officers, trying to get another to stay permanently with us (or, for a while, and be rotated out).

I also don't think that Henry would trust another around the camp anyhow.

Hawkeye, our Chief Surgeon, was calm about the situation, only saying that we need more hands on deck before we sank under the pressure. I agreed with him quietly, only wanting to take the worry off of his back as often as I could.

But, for days afterward, I tried the best I could to help Hawkeye. While Nurse Bigelow helped Trapper (they were dating for the time being before Trapper found another nurse), I poked and prodded at Hawkeye. I massaged his back and head (and more, in the Supply Room), insisted he sleep when he could (oftentimes, he was in Post-Op when he was not on a shift or needed or just being in the way, so I had to push him out) and even bothered Radar to get real food for him when we could.

Well, the food was for everybody, but still, it helped Hawkeye's mood, especially after he yelled at poor Igor about the food (liver and fish so many times that even I was groaning and wanting to puke). Even ordering from Adam's Ribs a few times changed everything, and we even got the cole slaw the second time around!

Soon, however, the roles had to change and I didn't mean for them to.

After the day I talked with Sidney Freedman and then headed to the O.R. (thank GOD he left after the session on an emergency, promising to come back later), things changed in me that I never knew could happen.

Well, this is Radar speak, so I'll translate: my body changed and it changed suddenly. I am a petite and thin person, about five feet, four inches. Within the month (all throughout January into February), I was bloated, tired, fat and plain disoriented, and it wasn't my period either, to be blunt and honest (it had stopped after a month of coming to Korea, as it always has when I'm too stressed to care, so that ended that). After that day with Sidney, I felt like I wanted to puke every other day.

It was easy to hide it all of course, but soon enough, I was bound to be promptly caught and made to go back on the table for examination once more. And that day came soon enough.

It all started when I began taking walks outside of the camp, in the fields and even near the landmines, where the invisible metallic beauty could have me killed. In warmer weather, I've seen picnics, races, games and even make-up sessions there, but in the colder weather, it was deserted for obvious reasons and it delighted me.

To me, it was beautiful – the feeling and the sight of desertion – especially early in the morning, when the dew turned to ice and sparkled at me, sometimes crying, telling to be positive and wait for spring: a time in which the war might even come to an end.

_Have__hope_, it seemed to say to me, whispering of a name I forgot to remember. _Everything__is__coming__out__as__planned._

I started avoiding the people who were up and about early (Frank was usually one of them) and being amongst the hills and grass was comforting. But, I thought it best of all that I was lucky that nobody followed me at all, not even bothering to ask me why in God's name I was walking towards a barren wasteland to be alone in the early hours of dawn…other than my love of the tall, dead grass making my pants wet as I walked through them.

Towards the middle of February, when I could not take throwing up every few hours anymore (it had gotten worse, but ceased after the afternoon sun came up), I started walking farther and farther away from the camp. In that case, I usually checked with Radar on updates from the Front Lines, always asking when the next offensive was going to be or if there was heavy fighting in the area. Then, I could calculate the time in which I could be gone and when I could run back. If I was caught sick when the wounded came (it hadn't happened yet), I could always brush it away by saying it's just something I caught and nothing more. And I might be able to stay away from the O.R. for a while, just helping to bring in soldiers, satisfied in the fact that I was safe.

Anyhow, I was caught. I knew that I was going to be, but I didn't expect to find out that it was Hawkeye: Hawkeye, who had been watching out for me ever since I started disappearing in the mornings…Hawkeye, who missed having me around when he woke up in the morning, if he didn't have an overnight shift…Hawkeye, who noticed that I was avoiding everybody on purpose, him included, and wanted to know what was going on.

_Dammit, I should have known. He and Henry both watch over me carefully. I should have KNOWN it was going to one or both of catching me in the act._

"Jeanie, are you ok?"

My body and head were bent over, kneeling in the dirt, to somehow empty my stomach of nothing. Upon hearing that familiar voice suddenly behind me, I gagged with fright.

"Hawkeye?" I gargled, trying to spit out the last of the vomit in my mouth and wiping my lips clean of the offensive liquid. I managed to still my stomach and make it stop heaving, so I could sit up, tired already of kneeling in the high grass, to hide my ghastly deeds.

Hawkeye sat before me, worried. "Where have you been, Jeanie? I've been worried about you. You've been dodging everybody lately."

I crossed my arms, stubborn. "I'm fine, Hawkeye. I'm just a little sick, is all."

Immediately, Hawkeye felt my forehead and cheeks, which annoyed me a bit, even if it was my Love and I understood the concern. It was something that Henry would have done to me too.

"You have no fever, just little warm," he declared. Then, a worried look crossed his face. "Jeanie, let me –"

"Hawkeye, I've had my appendix out when I was thirteen." I sighed (knowing what he wanted to do), keeping the vomit swallowed as it came back into my mouth. "You can ask Henry about it. He did the procedure himself. I can easily get my medical files for you."

"You're awfully defensive today." Hawkeye tried making the mood light, but he knew that something serious was wrong with me. "You're not going through one of _those_ moods, are you?"

My face flushed red with embarrassment. "You're assuming too much, aren't you?"

Hawkeye held out his hand, trying to get me up, knowing he had me in a corner: the most vulnerable that I was going to be. But, as I took his hand and stood up, my head spun and I wanted to faint again, but the Chief Surgeon had me in his arms before I passed out.

Immediately, though, I felt safe…safer than I ever felt in my life…and not frightened and insecure anymore, wanting to keep the secrets deep within myself. I wasn't afraid of what was happening to me or the changes in my body…all of that was gone. Everything was going to be ok…or so I hoped.

"Come on, Jeanie, let's get back to camp." Hawkeye was helping me walk back to the compound, intent on heading to Pre-Op, I'm sure. "Let's talk to Henry. He's been worried too. He's been pacing his office for a few days now, since you haven't been talking to him lately. He hasn't done much else, not even sign papers that Radar says he needs to sign."

"Why be worried about me? I can take care of myself and he should know that by now. I'm a big girl now, Hawkeye, and he should know that by now. I'm nearly thirty years old. What a feat!"

I was walking by myself then, without Hawkeye's assistance, but almost tripped on something. I think it was a rock because I stubbed my toe. I felt blood fill in my boot quickly.

"With you hiding everything, we may never know."

Hawkeye laughed – bitter and worried – as we walked down the hill, ignoring the lone chopper behind us, the wind whipping our hair to and fro, the dust flying in our faces.

"Attention, all personnel: chopper on the compound. All personnel on shift right now head to the pad. We only have a couple on the chopper, everybody!"


	31. Widespread Shock

_March 28, 1951  
The 4077th to the 43rd, Korea_

_Oh, my dear older brother, Dean…_

_So much has happened in this past month that I've been away from the 4077th, so I'll write as quickly as I can (a long letter coming, I can see it already). And I hate this already!_

_Today is the first day in which I could lay down on my cot in the nurses' tent and relax and rest, knowing that I have nothing to do. I am not supposed to be doing anything really. I am banned from the O.R. unless it's an extreme emergency. I can't walk out of the camp without someone being with me, Hawkeye taking that position most of the time. And, most of all, all eyes seems to be on me, as if I was a freak in a circus show._

_I know that you don't know why all of this has to be so. You also don't know why I was sent away from the 4077th and sent to Sister Theresa's Orphanage, which is ten miles away from here (thereabouts), too far away for you to be traveling from your unit. Father Mulcahy drove me there on one his weekly visits and left me there on orders, safe for the time being, and would not bring me back unless an inquiry has been set up in my name and I am ordered back to my unit._

_Why again, you ask me? Why is an inquiry being set up in my name? Well, Dean, my dear brother, I am being sent on trial, in a way. I am posing a security risk to our beloved United States of America and they have to figure out HOW much of a risk I am, with all of the top secret (albeit interesting) information that I know and can give to the enemy, if captured. They know me under a different name, but that is no matter to the Army. They only are worried about a person with too much._

_So, again, why am I possibly being sent back to the United States, if that is the decision? Well, Dean, it's quite simple: you're going to be an uncle. Yes, my brother, I'm about three months pregnant and pregnant women do not belong in a war zone, especially in a hospital three miles from the Front Lines. I was ordered to a safe location – the orphanage – and worked there, for a little while._

_I enjoyed my time there, truly I did, and was satisfied with seeing the orphans daily and finding food and medical supplies for them (the Black Market is fun to barter with, by the way) and playing childish little games with them. However, it doesn't distract me from the dread in my heart._

_I'll start at the beginning. After all, that seems to be the best place to start…_

_Well, it all began after Hawkeye finally found me by the landmines (yes, I walked towards that way, despite what you tell me to do, which is staying away from them), throwing up and trying to deny everything and say that I'm fine. He then got me up and dragged me to Pre-Op (I was super dizzy and wanted to faint for most of the walk) and made me wait in an examination room while he checked on the two wounded soldiers that came on chopper behind us. Trapper and Frank, who were on shift, were handling them with Nurses Bigelow and Fields, so it left Henry free to bother me while Hawkeye was away._

"_Ok, Jeanie, what's up? Pierce told me come in here A.S.A.P., so here I am."_

_Henry came in, oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, while I was throwing up in an odd bucket (from the O.R.) that Hawkeye left for me, knowing that it was bound to happen again. And, Henry being Henry, he remained that way for a minute (oblivious, I mean) before hearing me gag and spit into the bucket and seeing it overfill a little._

"_Holy smokes, Jeanie, what's wrong?" Henry finally saw what was going on and stopped dead in his tracks, I swear. He soon was on his knees and holding back my hair, which had loosen from the bun I put it in, whispering encouraging words in my ear, telling me that it'll be ok and things like that, as always._

_My stomach stopped giving my trouble a few minutes later, so I was able to talk for a minute before I had to throw up…again. "I don't know, Henry. Why don't YOU tell me what's wrong? You're the doctor here."_

_Then, my head went back into the bucket, as if my stomach wasn't empty yet._

"_You and your sarcastic comments are going to get you into more trouble one of these days…" Henry muttered with a sigh as Hawkeye came in, toweling off his hands._

"_What do you think, Henry?"Hawkeye threw the towel to one side, eying me with worry, as he had been for the past few hours._

"_I would have said she had what every woman has every month, but it can't be this serious."_

_Henry let me go (my hair pulled back safely) as I stopped throwing up again, standing up to face Hawkeye. I myself felt my stomach lurch forward and flip after I was let go, but it stopped bothering me for the time being. I sat up slowly, keeping my head low and then between my knees, to keep the room from spinning._

_Hawkeye shrugged his shoulders, also not mentioning – God forbid he mutter! – one of the words that doctors usually avoid (others included rape and abortion, if you must know). "It's worse, I agree. I also think we need a female rabbit brought in, without Radar's detection. Otherwise, we won't hear the end of it for a while."_

"_Hey,__I__'__m__over__here.__" __I__picked__my__head__up__slowly,__watching__the__room__slowly__come__to__a__standstill.__ "__You__both__don__'__t__need__to__talk__like__I__'__m__not__in__the__room.__And__I__don__'__t__think__it__'__s_that_serious.__I__think__I__just__have__some__bug__or__something__and__it__'__ll__go__away.__"_

_Henry suddenly came before me, kneeling, his face appearing urgent. "Jeanie, honey, when is the last time you had your – umm, your thingee –"_

_I tipped my head back to laugh, ignoring the new pain in my abdomen. "God, Henry, you still don't know how to talk seriously, do you? If you and Hawkeye must know, the last time I had my period was in August and I didn't have another afterward. And this was before Hawkeye and I started dating and having sex under your nose in the Supply Room."_

_The Commanding Officer's face turned bright red. "Your mother, if she were here, would say that you're without shame. And sometimes, I agree with her."_

_Hawkeye laughed along with me. Whether it was about the statement (it being true sometimes) or the fact that Henry was being embarrassed and covering it up, I could not tell._

"_If my mother were here, she'd also be singing from the tent tops about how much of a whore I am," I added, a little angry that Henry mentioned my mother in such a tone. "And then, she'd be trying to kill my father when he was here a few weeks ago."_

_Henry was serious again. "You're right, Jeanie, and I'm sorry for mentioning it. But sometimes, she can be right. You are without shame."_

"_That is not true and you know it," I growled back._

"_Ok, ok, you two," Hawkeye butted in. "Jeanie, I want to test you as soon as possible, hopefully tonight, if Captain Courageous and Major Malpractice finish up."_

"_Pierce…" Henry warned him, obviously weary of the name-calling._

"_Henry, either way, we have to get Jeanie tested, to get all of the obvious possibilities out of the way." Hawkeye wrung his hands nervously. "Simmons might have done more to her than we thought. Therefore, we need to cross out a lot of things off of the list before we do anything else."_

"_Anchors away, Doctors," I practically screamed, suddenly sticking my head back in the bucket, ending the conversation._

_A little while later, when all seemed to be quiet and the two doctors were done talking over my head, Hawkeye pulled me back up and said we needed to hurry up and get to the O.R. before it was taken up again. The wounded had arrived in heavier loads at the 8063rd (we were sure to get some of that) and we needed to head out and get the testing done with, even if I wasn't well enough._

_So, that was pretty much that. I tested negative for V.D., cancer and even the flu. With yet another embarrassing examination in stirrups (legs up and spread out, Dean, if you want an image, and if not, I'm sorry for saying anything), Henry and Hawkeye, with Margaret along for the ride (she insisted that she needed to be there for her nurses, even me), found damage in my female parts. However, the last test was a pregnancy test. And we all know what the result is, Dean, unwanted as this was._

_The shock was widespread, I'm afraid, Dean, especially in Henry's department (he was so angry with me that he didn't speak to me in the days before I temporarily left the 4077th, telling Radar to say what he wanted to say to me when I left), knowing that I had to get out of Korea as soon as possible. But, before the gallant Commanding Officer could sign any discharge papers for me (and a party to be held in my honor), he was ordered by H.Q. to get me out of the immediate war zone. So, I went to Sister Theresa's for the rest of February and most of this month (it was suggested by Father Mulcahy and approved by H.Q., which I didn't mind). Then, I was ordered back and told about my "trial" because of activities done before the war and the question of if it'll be a risk to send me back Stateside._

_God, Dean, I STILL cannot believe the reaction before and after I left this place. The nurses call me a whore, talking about Hawkeye being a backstabber, and then ignore me, save for Kellye (who already yelled at me for talking about abortion as an opinion in front of her, saying that it was not fair to the baby) and Margaret, who actually looks in after me. She's tried to be my friend, which I am appreciating very much, but I don't like Frank around her a lot (nobody does, and I'm starting to think that she deserves better). She seems to "false" then, if you know what I mean. Other times, she's concerned and asks me how I am. I usually tell her I'm fine and don't need anything, which drives her away, thank God._

_Henry, as you possibly know, is still extremely angry, but is JUST starting to warm up to me, especially after I came back a few hours before (embracing me warmly when I jumped out of the jeep, laughing as he cringed). He thought that it was all Hawkeye's fault, but then thought about Simmons and said that he was also a possibility, since he figured out (without asking me) that I was raped three times (it must have leaked somewhere otherwise and I know that it wasn't Sidney Freedman). Otherwise, he's been overprotective and it's driving me a little crazy, to be honest with you._

_This pregnancy has been crazy too, albeit quiet. Trapper's not letting me have any gin from the still and always makes sure that I don't go to the Officers' Club for anything (spoiling all of my fun!). Frank ignores me, as always, unless he finds some fault with me. And Hawkeye…well, he looks frightened out of his mind. To know that a child might be his is killing him (and he yelled about me being abortion too, even though he said that it was my choice). The suspense is not good for him. But, he keeps his professionalism around him and is as good as a doctor to all, which I know frightens him when he uses it on me._

_I want to be back with Sister Theresa, where there was no name-calling, complaining and even backstabbing behavior. There was kindness and compassion at the orphanage. Oh, hell, Dean, I humbled myself upon the feet of the orphans (their acceptance of everything is just stunning!) and even thought about them day and night, concerned about them and not myself. They had nothing while I had something._

_And God, older brother, they kept me busy all the time, making me wish that I could do more for them, but finding nothing except looking for food and supplies someplace, keeping them comforted and playing games with them before bedtime. Even visits from Father Mulcahy helped because he brought the things we needed sometimes. Other times, he was apologetic because he could find nothing during the week, but was cheerful and brought joy and happiness to the children._

_Otherwise, Dean, my "trial" is tomorrow, so I have to be ready. I have my formal suit ready (it barely fits on me now) and my jeep to Seoul is ready and signed out for the day. Klinger is driving me out there and staying with me, if you must know. He is, naturally, making sure that he wears his own outfit: an outrageous yellow dress, matching parasol and the new pair of high heels that were replaced by Henry. I could TELL that a visit to H.Q. would have him up in arms about wanting that Section Eight!_

_Afterward, depending on the results, I might be allowed to be discharged or can stay in this hellhole (or, there's to be another inquiry, depending on everything…again). Another possibility is a little-known post in the middle of nowhere, if Colonel Flagg has his way._

_I shudder, Dean. I don't like it here or at another crummy post around the war zone, but I don't want to be with Mom and Clarence either, having a child or having it known that I was pregnant and aborted. And I don't WANT to be stuck in some other country with nothing to do and nobody to be with me when the baby comes! Oh, Dean…what have I gotten myself into?_

_Oh, my God…I am getting distraught, nervous…and I don't need that. I have to stop writing now. I think I have written enough for today, but I promise that I will write, when I can, to tell you about the result of everything. I can only cross my fingers, older brother, and so can you. Hope for the best…_

_Your sister, Jeanie_


	32. Verdict: Colonel Flagg

I looked at a clock at the opposite wall, wondering when things were going to end and what the decision of this "trial" will be. Klinger sat next to me at a table, also waiting for the results of this, only happy that he was away from the unit and in the capital city with me (taken back from our military, but soon to be occupied again if we're not careful, so I've heard) while those who mattered the most to me were left behind.

Klinger alone was able to stay with me in the room (nobody else was allowed in the building with me, even though Hawkeye, Trapper and Henry came with us in the end and are outside with the jeep in their best suits), his yellow dress changed into an actual formal Army uniform because he was threatened with a court martial if he didn't change, it being an official Army "trial" and all.

I had never seen Klinger in a male uniform before, so tried my hardest to keep from laughing the whole time I was in this "trial" so far. This was a serious situation and it needed a straight face. However, him wearing a formal Army uniform was actually hilarious…and making Klinger itch, for sure.

_If only Frank Burns could see this moment…_

"How long is this going to take, Captain?" Klinger then asked me, sighing and tugging at brown collar, clearly wishing that he wasn't wearing it and was back in a dress: the most comfortable clothes around here for him.

"I don't know, Klinger," I replied, then looking at the door where the men – General Clayton and some of his aides – left (we were to wait for their return and then hear the verdict). "We had the evidence before them and there shouldn't be anything against me, no reason that I shouldn't leave Korea. I'm sorry you had to hear about my disgraceful deeds in Germany, the only thing on paperwork that seems too surreal. I can only thank God that Radar helped find the paperwork against Simmons and such. I didn't keep my copies. I'm not a very organized person, I'm afraid."

"I can tell, Captain. I can see that already." Klinger blew out some frustrated air and began gathering the paperwork Radar copied for us before they were lost…again (well, it WAS my fault I lost my copies, since I wasn't quite watching them in my footlocker). "But, what will happen to _you_? You're bound to go home, like you said. And if not, what's next?"

I laughed nervously, deciding to tell him everything. "I don't think so, Klinger. I hold too many secrets from the Army, like you've noticed. I don't think I can have security clearance to go into the United States _ever_ again. Sadly, this is why I'm here and you're with me. And I'm sorry about the uniform. I know how much you love the new yellow dress. It actually matches your coloring in a way, I must say. If you put some make-up on, in a light blown shade, and then put on some more elegant earrings – silver and not gold – I think you'll look fine. The gold seems to make the dress a little more…glittery. It's too flashy."

A Section Eight shined in Klinger's eyes, ideas forming in his mind once more. "I thank you for the suggestions, Sir. Next time, I'll be sure to follow them."

I was about to reply back to Klinger when the door opened, bringing back General Clayton and his two aides. Hearing, "Ten, hut!" from one of the aides made Klinger and I stand up in respect, hoping for the best verdict there was, whatever it was.

His aides then sitting down at the opposite table from us, General Clayton taking his place in the middle, standing and smiling. "Gentlemen, remain standing for a few minutes. Corporal Klinger, you are dismissed to Colonel Blake, so return outside and you can have your…dress and shoes back. Next time, though, wear your dress uniform to functions such as this."

As Klinger, my only comfort for the time I was in H.Q., left me with my paperwork under his arms, General Clayton ordered his M.P.'s to close the door and lock it, then looking at me severely. "Captain, I need not remind you that this is a serious matter that I took upon myself, instead of someone more severe, because I personally like your unit and what it stands for. I'm doing a special favor to your Commanding Officer and, since you're like a child to him, I will be as fair as possible."

I gulped, ignoring the rising vomit in my throat, and listened to one of the aides talk of my actions, like they were crimes against the Army. "Captain Jeanette Morrison, R.A. 28491374, you are accused of behavior unbecoming in an officer of the United States Army, but, seeing the evidence before this court, you are absorbed of your crime. Your accusations against one Major Daniel Simmons, now in Leavenworth Prison under the name of the civilian Jacob Zimmerman, are proven to be true according to witnesses from the 4077th M*A*S*H and from doctors from the unit, namely Captains John Francis Xavier McIntyre and Benjamin Franklin Pierce."

"Not to mention, Captain," General Clayton continued after the aide ended, "you have placed the United States Army in a headlock. This is a serious issue, much more so than you think. You were a spy, under the name of Iréne Mountebain, in West Germany after the last war before coming to Korea. You are wanted by the Soviet Union and, if they catch you, you are bound to be executed as a spy. However," he added when he saw my horrified face at the mention of an execution, "we're bound to protect one of our own. We cannot allow you back to the United States until after the hostilities are over here in Korea. That has been agreed upon by everybody here, officials, Generals and others alike, if that can be the case. We also cannot send you to a remote location, alone and with secrets that could be forced out of you if someone was to find you."

General Clayton finally sat down at his seat and flipped through the papers his aides brought in, continuing. "It is the decision of this court hearing to bring you and the evidence of this case to Colonel Flagg, your former Commanding Officer when you were in West Germany. As part of the C.I.A., he will be able to decide whether or not you can remain in Korea, as we've decided, or work in another hospital safely, until your child is born. Dismissed!"

I saluted the General (he saluted back half-heartedly, paying more attention to his aides), my heart beating faster and faster, nervous and tense. The news was better than I expected, but it was still not to my taste.

_Colonel Flagg is now a part of my problems once more. Nice…very NICE job you did, Jeanie. And now, for the finale: can I get out of Korea soon? Will I be able to actually get a decent job away from everything abnormal and have an ordinary life for once? I don't think so._

_God, any chance I get, I am aborting this child. I can't afford to have one at a time like this, knowing that I'll be too sentimental, too clingy, too attached…and lose it again. Jesus, people are going to disagree with me, but I don't care. I WANT my life! This is my body and I WILL do as I wish with it._

The M.P.'s outside the door finally unlocked the entranceway as General Clayton and his aides exited, allowing me my own escape from this little hellhole called H.Q. As the three men turned right to go to the Officers' Club (it was opening up especially for General Clayton), I turned left, heading out of H.Q. Seoul, wishing that the verdict was different and a decision more solid.

I didn't _want_ Colonel Flagg to get into this business of mine. He didn't belong in my life here anymore. He was part of another, more sinister phase of my life, one that I thought was behind me. He shouldn't BE bothering me anymore!

As soon as I left the building to go to the jeep (hearing planes overhead, heading north, as the next offensive was on its way), there was Henry, Hawkeye and Trapper, running to me (how strange to see the three in their best formal uniforms!) and asking me a million questions a minute as we walked back to the vehicle. The jeep was just around the corner, in the parking area, where Klinger stood, waiting in his yellow dress and heels, his brown formal uniform in a bundle on the hood of the jeep.

_I'm betting Klinger's going to be running it over a few good times before we leave._

I held my arms in the air, trying to silence everyone. I didn't want them to know of my distress just yet, but to say my peace and go back to camp. "Come on, everybody, quiet down! Do you want to hear anything or what?"

Henry and Hawkeye shut up, but Trapper had to ask for the fourth time, "What happened in there, Jeanie? Klinger was dismissed and couldn't tell us anything. He didn't hear anything –"

"That was because most of what they wanted to say were state secrets best kept secret and away from ears it's not meant for," Henry replied for me.

I wanted to laugh, but didn't because Henry was serious and meant well. However, the situation at hand was more serious than even _he_ imagined.

"They didn't know what to do with me," I finally confessed quickly, stopping suddenly, my emotions bubbling outside for the first time since I left the building.

Henry, Hawkeye and Trapper stopped with me, confused.

"What, Jeanie?" Hawkeye asked, his eyes full of tears (I swear his blue eyes were turning a little red). "They don't know what to do with you? There's no decision yet?"

"Jeanie…?" Henry looked just as disturbed as the others. He played with the sleeves on his formal uniform, looking down and avoiding my glance. He didn't know what to do, I guessed.

"Oh, Henry, I don't know! I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore!"

And, like the child I used to be, I threw myself into his arms, startling him, and cried, Hawkeye and Trapper looking on and then walking away awkwardly, telling Klinger to get ready to leave when I was good and ready. They knew that I needed to be alone for a few minutes with Henry, to have some parental protection for those precious seconds I had to be a child and cry my heart out.

For a few minutes, I felt safe and secure, as if Henry could help me again, but it wasn't for long. I knew that reality was bound to kick in sometime and I had to deal with it. Henry couldn't keep helping me and giving me the world on a silver platter. I had to earn my own place in the world.

And while I thought, for the ten years that I had been on my own, that I had my own control, that moment proved to me something: I barely had my own life in my hands. I was a puppet for something else to play with.


	33. The Wind Arrives

I didn't know when my old (and odd, for sure) Commanding Officer, Colonel Flagg, was coming to see me, so I prepared myself everyday for him. He was a man of many surprises (so he thinks) and has popped up in places in different outfits and strange disguises and under new names which made me automatically know that it was him. I was not fooled usually and knew Colonel Flagg in an instant. This was why Henry put me up on a "Flagg Watch", seeing as how he doesn't like him as much as anybody else does (and is scared and/or annoyed with him, I can tell), save for Frank, who commented upon his saving the American way of life from the Communists.

Hawkeye sometimes stayed with me when I spied about on the compound, joining me on walks in the fields when he wasn't tired or sleeping in (we've mostly went in the afternoons, but I still like the mornings, when the dew dripped tears down its stocky arms). Throughout the early days of April, when I thought that I could not bear to carry a child anymore (abortion was still open to me and I knew where to go, but I had no made a move yet, for odd some reason), there was Hawkeye, always sitting with me, watching me, talking to me…just like we used to.

"The nurses seem to hate you more and more by the day," he commented once as we sat together on a blanket near the landmines. "Nurse Kellye and Major Baby seem to be the only ones talking to you."

"Margaret just asks me if I'm ok every other day, too." I was quiet for a minute, letting my pants become wet as I let my knee brush against some grass: a comfort to me many times over. "Kellye has been trying to talk me out of the abortion. She's been the only voice. But, I'm sure Margaret could care less. With her still yelling at me about my 'bumbling' behavior still, even when I'm not allowed in the O.R., she could tell me in so many ways she cares."

"No, she does care, in her own way, but she doesn't like showing it. She likes herself to be the antagonist out of all of us." Hawkeye rolled over and up from his sitting position and cupped my chin into his hand, looking into my eyes as I squirmed in his grip. "And I care too, Jeanie. You know my opinion on this. At this point, if you didn't want the baby, after about four months, you'd be up and gone and your career – and position here – would be saved. You'd still be here and be working with us more often."

"Hawkeye, I don't –"

"Don't say it, Jeanie! Don't say that you don't care about your career because you do. And you also care about your baby in a way. Otherwise, it'll be gone by now."

I was stunned into silence. Hawkeye had _never_ reproached me about anything before. He and I argued hotly about this abortion topic for about a month, but he's never made a point like that before.

And how had he known so much about me? Hawkeye had known me for about seven months. That was September of 1950 until the day of our talk, on April 11, 1951. Still, that was a long time (not quite a year yet) and yet, so much has already happened between us. He and I spent our first night talking to me and then kissing right afterward. I was on Cloud Nine shortly afterward and enjoying being within his attention. However, in a short amount of time, we've had to face up to adversary and disaster. Finally, we have a baby within this sphere, at the prime of our relationship, and I couldn't tell if it was going to be continuation or the end of our relationship.

_Is this the end of our relationship? Is the honeymoon period over, as they say it usually is?_

I hoped not. I loved Hawkeye too much to let him go, just yet. And, well, if he wanted to release me sometime, because he did not love me anymore…well, I'll cry and have a broken heart, but I'll live. I've lived without Falk, who I had considered to be the same, and he's been dead and gone for over a year. I can live without Hawkeye for sure.

Empty of all thoughts, I then looked into Hawkeye's eyes and stopped squirming in his grip. Smiling at him as he let go of my chin gently, I went for a kiss as my reply. He returned it, with more passion than I ever had, and soon, he had me in his arms, rolling me on top of him so that he could see me.

"Hawkeye, this isn't right," I said with new realization of what I was carrying within me: a great responsibility, which surprised me. "Are you sure I'll be ok this way?"

In-between our many new kisses afterward, Hawkeye laughed. "I thought a little adventure would not hurt you…"

I went for another kiss to shut him up and succeeded, laughing with him as our lips kept meeting over and over again.

"Ah, the wonders of motherhood have never stopped me from being youthful and sometimes stupid," I replied, feeling changed for some reason, going from surprised to worried.

_Was motherhood really changing me all of a sudden? God, Hawkeye's right. Something in me wants the baby, no matter what I say about things. I'm very selfish and stupid, but I love._

Hawkeye suddenly stopped playing with me, suddenly realizing how heavy I was on top of him. "Damn, Jeanie, what am I going to do with you three months from now?" he then asked me.

"How am I supposed to know?" I shrugged my shoulders. "Hawkeye, all I know is that…you're right. And sometimes, I hate _really_ it when you are." I kissed him again on the mouth.

The Chief Surgeon of the 4077th only smiled in reply, putting his hands back around me, holding me gently. But I could tell that he wasn't too happy with me on top anymore. I guess that would wait until I've been popped and we're back to normal again…

If there is such thing as "back to normal" in this life, then I think I could rejoice. Alas, I don't think so. Things will never be the same after this pregnancy and I knew it.

"Here, why don't we switch positions?" I rolled off of Hawkeye, aware of how uncomfortable he was being on the bottom, and laid on the ground on my back, pulling his head to my stomach.

I think Hawkeye liked it. He stayed there, cuddling against my enlarging breasts (oh, it was kind of gross to me, but Hawkeye seemed to have liked it more, using them as pillows more often than his own in the Swamp) and feeling everywhere he could, exploring every new shape on my body without me caring at all.

"I could say how cheesy this moment is, but I'm enjoying it too much," he said very quietly.

I cuddled against Hawkeye, sensing a romantic moment about to interrupted soon. "I like this, too. And you're right: how cheesy this moment feels. Yet, it feels…kind of right."

Suddenly, our moment was spoiled, as it always is (and I knew it too!). Radar, running out of breath obviously, came into our view, the tall grass of the hill obscuring him until he was in view, right in front of us. He was short enough to be hidden, so I would not have known he was there, in front of us, had he not stepped in front of the afternoon sun and made himself known, like a dark cloud obscuring the sun.

"Oh, sorry, Sirs!" he yelled, saluting and seeing the tangled mess on the ground.

"Radar, what is it?" Hawkeye sounded pretty annoyed, knowing, too, that our alone time was over too soon…again. "This had better be good or I'll be shrinking you down to a size 'peanut' instead of leaving you at 'walnut'."

"Hawkeye, Sir, there's a man down there pretending to be a man in uniform and he's scary and then there's –"

I sighed audibly, interrupting Radar. "It's only Colonel Flagg, Radar. There's nothing to be frightened about…this time. Just let him into Colonel Blake's office and wait for me there with the Colonel. He's bound to reveal who he is soon enough and call me in, so I better get ready for his arrival."

Radar, in return, looked relieved at the answer, but was worried about the person being Colonel Flagg (he is kind of creepy, if people think about it). "Thank you so much, Sir. Gee, whiz, that was Colonel Flagg? I never knew!"

"He's called 'The Wind' for a reason," I replied, pushing Hawkeye off and moaning about our precious, romantic moment being spoiled…but I can live with it (I usually did). "Come on, everybody. Let's head back to the compound."


	34. Final Decisions

Hawkeye, Radar and I walked to Henry's office slowly nonstop (the blanket by the landmines abandoned for the time being), only stopping at the doors before the office when hearing military double-talk from Flagg and Henry, going back and forth at each other for a while. Out of habit, Radar and I went to the doors and listened from one side of the doors each, Hawkeye backing away. He could hear the conversation from where he was standing (the phone) and could easily be innocent of all charges of eavesdropping. Radar and I, on the other hand, could be sent to latrine duty (even I!) if we were caught.

"Colonel, I don't see why I have to leave my own office." Henry seemed to be on the verge of protesting whatever they were talking about vigorously, but was pointing out the obvious calmly enough. "Captain Morrison is not a risk to security and does not need to be alone with a C.I.A. officer. She needs her Commanding Officer with her when she is spoken to and not have her own butt handed to her by some –"

"Colonel, hold your tongue." The familiar, deep and sneaky voice of Colonel Flagg filled my ears, making me want to run my fist into a wall (he pissed me enough the last time I saw him, hence the feeling). "Captain Jeanette Morrison is a serious issue to our national security and can be a danger to the civilians of the United States of America if she is captured by the Communists Reds. Besides, the C.I.A. does not care for outside support for one their own. They can handle their own by themselves."

"They don't even like support from their own people, even if they were handling you, their best," Hawkeye commented sarcastically as he played with the P.A. system and the phone, about to turn the P.A. system on and reveal the conversation in the office. Radar gave him a warning look and it stopped him, but soon enough, the Swamp Rat was playing again.

"Shh!" I hissed, trying to hear the rest of the conversation and whether or not I should just drop in or not, surprising my former Commanding Officer.

"Really, Sir?" Radar moved from his position at the door and looked to Hawkeye.

"I said to shush up!" I repeated, exasperated.

"Radar! Bring Captain Morrison in here!" Henry must have known that Radar was back from trying to find me.

Radar got up from his position from the door, shrugged his shoulders in indifference at me (it annoyed me a little), and escorted me inside the office, Hawkeye following hotly behind us. Hell, I don't think that he was going to be intimidated by Colonel Flagg (unlike Radar) and told not to be there for me. Indeed, I think Hawkeye would have loved to play with him, especially when it involved Frank and his files…like last time he was around (which I thankfully missed, being at Sister Theresa's Orphanage, but Hawkeye told me all about it).

Henry, upon seeing the two with me, got up from his desk. "Pierce, Radar, this is a private matter and one of national security. We must leave the Colonel to his, umm, work and let him work on what he needs to work on."

I would have laughed at Henry had this not been a serious matter.

"Pierce…Pierce…" Flagg, I saw, was sitting in a seat before Henry's seat, trying to remember something about Hawkeye, as if he didn't see him last time he was around the camp. "Oh, yes, Benjamin Franklin Pierce, Captain, U.S. 12836419."

"Been digging around into my friends' files, I see."

This was my greeting to the man who sent me here, the man who didn't care that my Falk was sent to his death and would not hesitate to send Hawkeye to his, if it came down to it. I was, as always, fuming about Flagg's usual nosy behavior, which was good for a C.I.A. officer and master spy, but not for everything else.

God, I wanted to kill Flagg, strangle him right where he sat, but I knew he was stronger than I am and could easily kill me, just by bashing my head repeatedly into the nearest wall. Besides that, Flagg also had a gun at his belt, within easy reach if he didn't want to make the effort to make a messy Jeanie. He wouldn't hesitate to use it against me, despite it being a hospital and there being a rule against weapons inside the building.

I continued, regardless. "Colonel Flagg, it's a pleasure to see you again, although I am extremely regretful it's under some…strange circumstances." I then saluted at him somewhat halfheartedly, knowing that my efforts would go unappreciated in any way.

Flagg stood up. "Captain Morrison, might I remind you –"

"It's best for you all to get out of here." I interrupted Flagg for a reason, knowing that he could get downright dirty and cruel when he wanted to be, not having his way and all. "Henry, I'll meet you up in your tent later to talk to you about this. Hawkeye, Radar…you two, I'll talk to later as well. I'll be there in the Swamp after I have my conversation with Henry."

I remained adamant about my decisions, pushing out the people I loved most in the world so that I could deal with "The Wind" by myself. I didn't want them in the office and have to defend me when I can stand up alone. They didn't need to deal with Flagg and his antics.

"Jeanie, I don't want you to –" Henry began as he walked around the desk.

"Get out of here, Henry, while you can," I growled back at him, becoming angry fast. "It's the best thing you can do right now. Hawkeye, you too, and take Radar with you. I'll _talk_ with you _all_ of you later, when I'm finished with Colonel Flagg here."

"Crazy in Army, you are," Hawkeye commented, smiling and then walking out with Radar, who was bound to be eavesdropping at the door still.

Hawkeye and Radar both took this defeat well. Henry, on the other hand, took a few more seconds to persuade me that he needed to be with me with Colonel Flagg questioned me. That fatherly feeling in his just didn't go away and that always took precedence over rationality and reason.

"Henry, just go," I said, with some finality in my voice, as if I was washing my hands of him. "I don't need to tell you again and neither does Colonel Flagg."

"I'll take up your offer," Henry only replied, also fuming. "I'll be in my tent. Leslie might be there, so be prepared for some competition for attention."

"She better be out before I get there or else Lorraine is getting a surprise letter," I retorted quite hotly, always throwing the blackmail in his face because of how tired I was of him cheating on Lorraine. "I don't think, with another child on the way, that she'd also like to deal with heartache and possibly a divorce in the mix."

Henry looked dumbfounded, but it was temporary. "You wouldn't dare!" he yelled right back after that second of shock.

"Then let it be done," I replied through clenched teeth, angry enough that Flagg was around and my fate was hanging on a thing thread: a silly little thread easily cut by Flagg if he so chose to, one that could never be tied back together again.

The face that Henry gave me in reply – still irate about my pregnancy and then being kicked out of something he thinks that he should be a part of – made me shudder, despite what I knew to be right. Henry was easy to blackmail though. I didn't appreciate him going behind Lorraine's back no matter what, but at the same time, it gave me some leverage when I needed things to go my way (God, he even went for that girl, Nancy Sue I think her name was, and she was younger than I was!). However, it got him to leave, hopefully letting him cool down so that I didn't have to argue loudly with him later on.

Flagg was pleased when we were alone and that I still had the power of persuasion in my hands, although it was empty promises and threats I usually threw and that I wouldn't anything I would actually do. Then, quickly making sure that nobody was in Radar's space outside (even the Company Clerk had hidden, I knew, and going to eavesdrop when he had the chance), Flagg sat in Henry's desk chair, motioning for me to sit as well.

"You were never one for relaxing, were you?" he asked me.

"No, Sir, and you knew it. I was always on the ball and alert." I sat down in the opposite chair.

"You also knew how to get your own way," Flagg continued to muse out loud, ignoring my uncomfortable state (my back started to ache) and my comments. "However, I don't think you can get out of this one yet, Iréne. This is going to be tough."

"It _is_ Captain Jeanette Morrison here and you know it, Colonel." My anger soon (quite quickly) turned to irritation, which pleased me in some way. It was an improvement in my mood…in a way.

"Whatever the name may be, I don't care. What I care about is the safety and security of this man's Army and of the officials, citizens, politicians, etc., of this United States of America. This visit will be short, Iréne, before I make my disappearance again. My decision is clear and there seems to be no other way. It's final."

Flagg paused and then said no more, making me tap my foot in impatience. But, even that motion was making my body throb. My mind's thoughts even continued to buzz with irritation.

"Then what's your decision, Colonel Flagg? You might as well flaunt your power before me and tell me my fate. Hell, you've pretty much taken away everything I've ever loved the last time we've met. And your 'promise' to send me to England kinda went to a brick wall before we both knew it, as if you've planned to send me here to Korea all along. Here I am. So, now what? What are you doing to do now?"

"That little German soldier had nothing and _was_ nothing," Flagg replied to me, angry. "I made sure he didn't come back because he was thorn in my side and was always battling against my side. He was against me and you knew it! And you didn't tell me about it!"

"I didn't even _know_, Colonel," I said somewhat truthfully (I might have had an idea, but I was being as truthful as I could be), scratching my head. "This isn't about Falk though. This is about me, about my _baby_, and what you're going to do with me about it. What is it going to be: home, someplace else, Korea or death? It goes in either direction, Colonel, and you have the power to make anything happen for me. So, are you gonna send me to a bigger hell?"

I was surprised to be talking about my child in such a manner and I think Hawkeye rubbed off of me. But, all of a sudden, I didn't want to lose the baby and wanted to keep it, whatever the cost to me and my life. And I didn't care if I was put someplace remotely, just as long as the baby was _safe_.

"I _would_ like to put a bullet in that little forehead of yours, just like they did to your German soldier, but I think your father and Henry Blake would kill me next." Flagg smiled a mystery kind of grin that never frightened me like it did to most, but made me want to punch him in the face. "General Clayton liked the idea that you were to stay in Korea until the end of the war, and if I decided it, then that would be it. And I do. You are too dangerous elsewhere, Iréne, and I can't afford to lose someone like you in the United States or be putting you in someplace where nobody can see you, but can easily figure out where you are."

My jaw dropped and I felt like I myself was punched in the stomach. The decision to keep me in Korea hit me harder than I thought it was going to.

"You can't be serious, Colonel!" I gasped, trying to catch oxygen that was not there, to somehow make my lungs work, but to no avail.

"I am serious, Iréne, and I could never be more," Flagg replied, suddenly having an interest in the papers on Henry's desk and visibly reading them.

"Stop calling me that!" I put my hands to my ears again, trying to call back his attention, but not really wanting to hear his voice _ever_ again.

"You can't erase the past, Captain," Flagg finally amended as he continued to read through the supply requests, reports and other papers of interest. "You are also too dangerous to be let loose in the United States or anywhere else and can easily be watched and under our thumb if you're here in Korea. But, until the Army knows that you're safe and following the American way of life, they can probably let you live there again. But you will be watched for the rest of your life. You cannot be trusted ever again."

"I don't care!" I yelled as I put my hands down, acting the child save for holding in air and passing out from the lack of it. "I want to go home someplace, Colonel! I can't be here! It's dangerous enough here for me. I am putting the ones I love in bigger danger. Let me go home!"

"If you had one to go to." Flagg suddenly locked his eyes into mine, searching for something (I could not tell what yet). "As I understand it, your mother is not pleased with you."

"You've been reading my mail again, haven't you?" I sighed.

Flagg waved his hand in indifference. "What matters the most if the security of those important and small in this great country called the United States of America. I don't know if you're a Communist Red, Iréne, but if I find out that you are one of the gorillas, your little head will sport a red spot right…in…the…middle."

I gulped. "You don't scare me."

"And you don't do the same to me." Flagg shook his head, as if to clear it of something, and continued. "You're dismissed. And as far as I am concerned, this conversation never happened."

"As ever, Sir," I smiled, knowing the usual routine, getting up and heading for the door quickly.

"Oh, and once more thing, Iréne," Flagg called to me.

As I turned around, I saw that Flagg was gone, but I heard a voice behind me, that sneaky bastard running past me (I saw the shadow, his usual escape). "Leave this country before the end of the war and you'll be dead. Try to communicate with the enemy and you'll be dead. Try to do _anything_ behind my back and you'll be dead. So, I think you'd better sit tight and stay here."

And then Flagg was gone, out of the door and outside.

I sighed as I watched Flagg walk out of the camp, oblivious to all.

_Damn him! Damn him and his decisions! Damn this Army and everything in it! I'm staying here, in danger, and oh, my God. What about my baby? It's not meant to be here. I'm not meant to be here. God, what have I done to myself? What have I done to my baby?_

I finally slumped my body against the filing cabinet next to the door, studying pictures that little Molly had made for Henry. I lost myself in them, a fantasy world of paper and crayons. They seemed so much safer than reality, a reality that I was not ready to deal with nor accept to its fullest.

But one question boggled my mind as I looked to them for comfort: _What __am __I __going __to __do?_


	35. Belief in Something

I did not have the courage to visit Henry and talk with him just yet. It took me a while to get out of his office, Radar coming in and out with paperwork for Henry to sign later on and sometimes sneaking stuff out (I didn't even catch what). He didn't bother me. I just stood by that filing cabinet to keep out of the way, using it as support, and ignored the world around me, only interested in the few colors in the white-papered world of Molly Blake.

When I did dare myself to walk out of the building to face the music, it was dark outside and Radar was fast asleep in his cot with his teddy bear in his arms. Night had fallen already and my Commanding Officer was waiting for me to talk to him still, I figured out quickly. Hell, it had taken me hours to realize that I blew Henry off and when I did, I knew that I had to run to his tent as soon as I could. I might have some time with Henry yet.

Smacking my forehead, I dodged the night creatures of the 4077th and searched for Henry's tent, hoping that he was calmer and not still pissed about me telling him to leave and Colonel Flagg to our own devices. I doubted it in some way (sometimes, Henry is so pigheaded and will stay angry for days at a time), but it was always in his nature to forgive and forget…if he decided that getting drunk was the answer to life's little problems.

With the time passed, I think a sober Henry would have even cooled down and been more civil to me if we talked. After the afternoon's incident, I would have loved to think Henry was well-disposed to me and would be kind…so I hoped. I didn't want another screaming match with him. I especially didn't want to deal with the gossip in the morning about it.

I walked to Henry's tent as I neared it, hearing nothing behind his door, not even the hushed voices of the Commanding Officer with Leslie Dish. I didn't want to interrupt him in the middle of a private moment (if you wanted to call it that), so took the risk and knocked on his door.

I hear some movement behind the door: the rustling of clothes, blankets and pillows, the grumbles of a man disturbed from something important (sleep, most likely). I couldn't comprehend what was being said, but whatever it was, I didn't think it was a good start to the conversation.

"Who's there?" Henry called after a minute, sounding as if I had woke him up from a nap.

"It's just me, Jeanie," I called back calmly, trying to keep my beating heart from going through my chest. "I'm sorry it's late, but I had to see you."

_God, Jeanie, it's just Henry Blake, the guy you knew as the medical student always bothering Lorraine before they married and had children, the married man who proved that he could not even make a decision in his own house. It's not like he's the enemy here. He can hardly make a move against you! Why be nervous? He's not going to bite my head off…so I hope._

A sigh on the other end was heard. "Come in, Jeanie. I've been waiting for you."

I opened the door gingerly and walked into the tent, seeing Henry sitting up on his cot, a pistol in his hand and his sleeping clothes all askew. Even the sleeping mask he usually wore to bed was tossed aside.

"Expecting the Chinese to come in, Sir?" I asked him, laughing somewhat merrily when seeing the scene before me.

"Jeanie, this isn't funny. Sit your little enlarging butt down. I've been waiting for you for some time now. Do you know what time it is?" Henry put the pistol back under his pillow and sighed again, his eyes bloodshot and worried.

"No, Henry. I've been otherwise directed." I avoided the subject, trying to get Henry off the topic of me being late (as well as the hour), not wanting to tell him the reason why. "I guess it's late, since Radar's asleep and the camp's usual nightlife is beginning again."

"Midnight, Jeanie," Henry growled. "You left me waiting for almost twelve hours!"

"I'm sorry, Henry," I replied sincerely. "I didn't keep track of the time. I was otherwise _occupied_ and wasn't watching the time…and no, I wasn't with Hawkeye and Trapper, trying to make Frank and Margaret's lives miserable again. Now, do you want to hear about Colonel Flagg and his final decision or are you going to try to discharge me again without H.Q.'s approval? I sure hope you can pull it off this time. It'll be nice to see some magic come out of that hat of yours."

Henry shook his head, smiling when he heard some of my father in me: blunt, to the point and without small talk. He then motioned me to his cot, to sit next to me. "Amuse me, Jeanie, before I fall asleep again or a bottle of alcohol calls me to attention again."

Ignoring Henry's sarcastic reply and the footsteps and voices of Hawkeye and Trapper outside (apparently, it sounded like they were up to no good), I sat down next to Henry and told him what Flagg told me, saving those things I knew to be secret (as usual). I even told him about the final decision Flagg gave me, my voice growing lower and sadder when I did, especially when he threatened to kill me if I corresponded with the enemy, did something behind his back or left the country before I was told to.

When I told Henry I was to stay in Korea, most likely until the end of the war, I burst into noisy tears. I didn't know why I did, but feelings I knew were kept secret – nay, locked away from the world and even from myself – were now out in the open. Something had allowed it to spill out, to come forth when even I could not bear to have it out in the open, and I could not take any more of it. I had to fend it off by releasing it.

Soon enough, I was telling Henry how frightened I was and how I wanted a stable life for _once_. Then, I blubbered about my new-found feelings of protecting what was mine and doing the best I could. All of a sudden, I didn't want to abort the baby, but to keep it with me. I _wanted_ to become a mother.

Henry took me in his arms and let me cry on his shoulder as he used to let me do, not saying a word and letting me talk and cry away and make his shoulder all wet. He then tried shushing me, and telling me that everything will be ok, but he couldn't quite find the right words to say after that (Henry was always eloquent like that). He knew how unusual this was, feeling helpless that he could not send me and the baby to a safer location, some place private so that I could have my peace and quiet. So, he shut up for a while so that I could cry my heart out, his fatherly feelings for me coming back.

Finally, when I was spent of my tears, I looked up. Henry's body seemed so much taller than I was feeling, my last tear trailing down my cheek as my small, mousy voice from long ago came back into my throat.

"I don't understand it, Henry…" I choked, my mouth thick with mucus, preventing me from speaking again.

Henry put my head on his chest, comforting me still, in the best way that he can. "I don't quite understand anything either, Jeanie. All I know is that history repeated itself, but this time, it'll be different for you and me. All I know is that you're safer than you were when you were a teenager, living with your mother and stepfather. I'm here for you now and you don't have to worry anymore. You have Pierce's love and McIntyre's respect. Nobody can touch you anymore. _He__'__s_ all gone now."

I noticed that Henry didn't mention Simmons' name, scowling when he spoke his last sentence, but his face turned back to homely comfort quickly enough.

I sniffled, trying to speak again. It was easier the second time around, thank God. "What am I going to do, Henry? Children don't belong here. I don't want to be a mother and a nurse at the same damned time. I want to be one or the other here. I want a home and a safe place to stay if I am not here. And here isn't what I want and –"

"We'll figure something out." Henry looked adamant. "The Army is, at this moment, trying to decide what to do with your baby after birth and I don't like it already. Since you're staying here, as Colonel Flagg has told you the decision was, then they're bound to see the baby as another threat and send it away. You can raise the child any way you want to and corrupt it. Anybody else can have it and raise the child the way they want to or the way the Army sees as neutral and unthreatening."

I wanted to cry again, but didn't dare do it, knowing that Henry was telling me the truth. I only listened to his heart beat, trying to grab the last bit of sympathy and comfort I could from him before his rigid routine turned my Commanding Officer back into a man made of stone. I knew what they taught him in Command School. I remember it well. And we could never change anything.

"Oh, Jeanie, you know we'll all help you." Henry continued on, regardless of my feelings, regardless of my thoughts. "Even if you're banned from the O.R. for a while, you can come back a while after you pop. The enlisted men could help you if the baby stayed here and –"

"Henry, you have _got_ to be dreaming this up or something!" I sat up, Henry's arms still around me. "We've been swamped a lot lately and we're bound to have all hands on deck, even the enlisted men, Father Mulcahy and everybody else not trained in medicine. We're _three__miles_ from the Front Lines! Are you kidding me? I don't want any child of mine to be here."

"There are others here who can take care of the baby," Henry pointed out.

"Yes, but how many miles away and to what cost to me?" An unwanted tear went down my cheek again. "Sister Theresa is ten miles away. A Catholic monastery is nearby, but I won't be able to see my child!"

I pushed back a sob, trying to be strong for Henry's sake. "No, Henry. My baby must be sent out of the country. The Army, for once, might be right. And I have to trust them and put my fate into their hands, as I've always done."

My hope was false, but I _had_ to hold onto it, for my own sake as well as everybody else's. I _had_ to believe in something!

Henry shook his head, incredulous he was hearing these words out of my mouth. "Then, let's hope that everything _does_ go in your favor, Jeanie. I don't want to see you unhappy and regretful of your actions and not being able to change anything. I've seen it enough times. And you can't afford to have anymore of that."

"My life is full of regrets, Henry, and hardship has been my lot." I sniffled again. "I am content right now, despite being here in Korea, and hopefully, I'll do my best to make you proud."

As I held onto Henry tighter and put my head back on his chest, I felt something wet hit my head. When I looked up, I saw that Henry was crying. I didn't know why, but all I could figure out was that he was tired: tired of the war, tired of seeing lives become shattered and tired of being the strong one. He had to break down sometime.


	36. Curses to False Hopes and Misery

I sat down at a desk in my room (shared by many, which I didn't mind), paper and pen before me. I stared at it all, wondering what to do with it. I knew that, with letters coming to me at a rapid rate, accusing me of this and that, I had to pick up the offending pen and write on the white stationary to refute the charges. However, the black and white lines of works already written caught my eyes, teaching me, once more, former lessons, present ones and those yet to come.

Korean words even danced before my eyes on some of those written pages, characters of old and ancient ways that help me to communicate with the people of this country. Others stared at me blankly still, waiting for me to write on them with more of those morals or words of my own.

My little teacher, an older orphan named Hee Young, had left me to learn on my own, having duties of her own when Father Mulcahy came to visit, like that moment I was alone in my room (making sure that the children younger than her received food before anything else). She was a playful and cheerful child for someone of her age, always teaching me more than the words of her family and her ancestors. She taught me the meaning of _life_ and what it truly meant to be living in a life of hell.

It was the summer of 1951: a summer in which I thought there was no end, working at each day (and garden, with Father Mulcahy) with as much grace and acceptance as I could. I was back at Sister Theresa's Orphanage, ten miles away from the 4077th once more. I was ten miles away from my duties; ten miles away from what I considered, slowly, to be home; and ten miles away from Hawkeye, who I missed every waking moment of my existence here (and wrote me letters as much as he could). Granted, I am safer here and actually more needed here, but I still miss being at the 4077th. I missed having Dean around to talk to; I missed having Hawkeye to kiss or Trapper to tease.

However, a strange calm had descended upon me and I accepted it. I was happier than I had ever been and loved every moment I worked with the orphans.

Finally deciding to pick up the pen and write, a few minutes after thinking everything out most carefully, I moved aside the Korean words Hee Young had written out for me. Poor girl, who learned to read and write in English and Korean only just recently, lost her family when the North Koreans bombed her village. Granted, she was happy with her lot, but I was not. And I had not been in some time.

Heavily pregnant, hot and tired, I had to only write back to my mother and Clarence, to tell them the truth of the matter. However, seeing the single, small letter from Clarence froze my heart, no letter from my mother accompanying it.

Granted, the man wrote words of regret about my folly, as my mother had done before (his words in the letter after hers only repeated), but he had also wrote his own letter, mailed to me and arriving that day: that day I wanted to tell them the truth, though they would never listen to me…that day in which my heart froze and could not be thawed. I had to somehow come to grips with reality still.

No, I was. I was…I was…

_July 18, 1951  
Bloomington, Illinois_

_My dear stepdaughter, Jeanette,_

_You have, by now, received the previous letter from your mother and myself, explaining how we are displeased with you. I also could not believe my eyes when I saw the letter, telling us that you were to have our first grandchild…and a bastard at that! Your mother fainted at the thought again, stuttering about Church and how they were going to throw her out for having such an ungrateful and undutiful daughter._

_You are, indeed, my Jeanette, such a daughter and I am not happy with you. Even Henry Blake's letter could not help your mother, as she is so discontented with you very much._

_My Dear, I must confess to you my deeds, of course, which is the purpose of this letter. I have heard about Daniel Simmons and, I must say, I have taught him well, even before he went to Korea. I have helped him to get into your unit, with my connections here and there, and he has kept an eye out on you. He tells me all, in his letters, before your own father found him out and had him sent away._

_Indeed, Daniel Simmons has been a good informant, you slut. You encouraged his advances and now, this is your folly, your sin, that you must carry. It is a burden that must be carried, as your mother said._

_And what she does not know will not kill her._

_It is your fault, Jeanette, and you know it. You could have been saved from Daniel, you could have married him even! Just name him as the father and you could be saved from a life of miserable proportions. You could come back to Bloomington and not be bothered by anybody anymore. You won't be in Korea anymore, living in sin with that man named "Hawkeye" Pierce. Daniel will come out of Leavenworth and you can tell them, in the Army, that the charges were false and that he will watch over you and make sure that you will follow the American Way of Life._

_You could have a happy and easy life, Jeanette. Just tell them what I said to and you'll be fine. You will have a good ending after all. Marriage and children are your lot anyhow. You will be happy in your duties._

_I cannot judge you anymore, my stepdaughter. Just write back to me, telling me of your beautiful daughterly love, and not to that man who fathered you and left you. Tell me everything, Jeanette, and be a friend to me._

_As ever, I will love you more for begging for forgiveness._

_Clarence_

The words continued to dance without passion on the page as I reread them, tempting myself to write back and tell him that I wanted it. I _wanted_ that happy ending so badly…with Hawkeye. However, I knew the truth: I was to stay in Korea and my baby was going to be someplace else, out of my arms and on its own.

I could not contemplate it now. I could not have that happy ending I wanted in the near future, not even with Daniel Simmons. To have him out of Leavenworth for good – to ruin the last of my reputation in society horribly – was to court disaster. And I didn't want it.

Daniel Simmons on the loose outside of prison, with my stepfather in the picture controlling the strings if he was not, was to doom my world forevermore.

I gulped, knowing what to write finally: with conviction, without regret.

Moving aside my Korean words to study and the miscellaneous things around the desk, I found the words to say to my stepfather. The blank pages of new could only give me courage to write more. However, I only needed a page to say my mind.

_July 30, 1951  
Sister Theresa's, Korea, to Bloomington, Illinois_

_Dear Clarence,_

_I have received your letter from about a fortnight ago and, I must say, what words you have written to me! Your offers are too tempting for me…FAR too tempting. It seems to great of an offer to be let up, although it might never come true._

_You and you alone have made my life a complete misery. You alone helped to orchestrate the greatest trials of my life, my mother blindly behind you, because you have created an image in her mind from the very start: faithful and innocent. You should know better that it would come to an end soon enough. Your own time of trial will come and when it does, you will be alone._

_Slowly finding out the truth of the matter has made me angrier, my dear stepfather. You and Daniel Simmons have plotted against me and, for that, I cannot forgive you for it, added to whatever else you did before I even left Bloomington. When you could no longer do your own work, you appoint another to continue it. Oh, how clever of you! What beautiful work you have made! And to blame me for it is a nice touch. It reminds me of how much you never change. You remain the same and, somehow, I am grateful that you are always predictable._

_To my mother, I give her one message, if you dare to show this to her and name my "lies" at her: I remain her dutiful and grateful child, insofar as the Law of God allows it. I remain with her alone and will be as obedient to her as I dare myself to be._

_And to you, I curse the day you came in our lives. May all of the heavens I cannot believe in curse you and your life, blighting your life and ending it soon enough._

_As well you know me…Jeanette_

I put the pen down, looking to my last sentences, curses of a different nature and something so unreal and unusual for me to say. My stepfather would be displeased, of course, and call me out to be a Communist pagan of all proportions (as will my mother, if she saw the letter). I do not care though. I believe in no religion, but call upon everything I could to make his last days (if they are coming, my mother saying how sickly Clarence looks already) miserable. May I never see him again in this life! May he die a slow, long-lasting death!

I sighed, folding up the letter of a single page and stuffing it into an envelope with a stamp and address on it already: the old and familiar ritual of my life. Sealing it without another thought, checking the address on it mechanically and smoothing out the stamp it easily enough (the actions itself were inane and even forlorn, as if I wasn't paying attention), I got up and walked out of my room to find Father Mulcahy outside, playing with the children. He would be sure to mail it for me when he had the chance. He was good to help me in any way he could, as I did to him.


	37. Back at the 4077th

The summer of August soon changed to the autumn of September and things were swiftly changing for me. My careless days were quickly coming to an end at Sister Theresa's and, soon enough, by the middle of September, I was ordered back to the 4077th.

Despite moving a few times in the summer, coming upon friendly and enemy fire many times over and working with shortages, Henry and the gang were the same as ever and working harder than ever before. I could hardly wait to see everyone again (even Frank and Margaret), but dread about the future – mine, theirs and the baby's – still hung onto my mind like a cloudy day. I needed them as they needed me soon enough.

Hell, being away from them would not help my cause apparently. There was no medical help for miles around the orphanage and the good Sisters depended upon me to help the children, as was originally suggested by Father Mulcahy. However, I was soon to give birth and I needed my own medical help, help that nobody there could give to me. The 4077th made sense, of course, and I was ordered back, bringing back words in Korean from the children, hope and faith and the faces of all of the children I could never see again.

However, ahead of me was the 4077th: Hawkeye, Trapper, Henry and the love I so desperately craved. I needed the love and support of others around me and not many little ones underfoot and asking me for this and that. Would I help them with their schoolwork? Did I find any food for lunch? Was Father Mulcahy coming to visit soon? When was I having the baby? Can they see the baby after he or she is born? Can they hold the baby?

So many questions and I had no time to answer them all!

I looked forward to seeing everybody back in Uijongbu again, even my brother, Dean, who I feared for, as he was fighting at the Front again. However, to see them again was to be torn away from the orphans, who gave me their own kind of love, even Hee Young. She helped me to understand her culture and language, helping me to appreciate it more. However, with it came sadness: her own country coming apart at the seams and her own life, like all of the others, coming apart along with it.

~00~

"Oh, Jeanie, I am so glad to see you again!"

Henry greeted me when I came back into the camp a few days later, Father Mulcahy driving me to his tent personally after a long drive talking about everything. He comforted me in every way, of course, and I felt at ease finally. Father Mulcahy was a good guy, and meant well in every way, but to have comfort from a priest confused me, an agnostic in every way.

_Was I changing? And is it for the good…or the bad?_

I struggled to get out of the jeep and, slipping out carefully enough, waddled my poor, fattening behind to Henry, who stood with Hawkeye and Trapper. Father Mulcahy yelled that he would drop my bags back at the nurses' tent and drove off, leaving a bubble of dust between me and the men who would held me together for so long now. My father, my love and my brother: they were all there, before my eyes, as I struggled to keep my eyes from tearing up and sobbing with happiness and joy.

"Hey, Love, I've missed you." Hawkeye had his turn when Henry was done holding me and whispering about how much he still loved and missed me. "Petite Jeanie has turned into a hippo. What will Major Baby think?"

"She's in Tokyo, thank God," Trapper added, laughing.

"And Frank's as obnoxious as ever before," Hawkeye laughed as well.

"Men, men, men, we also have much work to do," Henry tried to tell the two, but it went over their heads as they laughed harder. "After last night, I don't think Frank wants to hear about you two, other than working on your shifts, which seemed to have been cancelled today."

"What did you two do?" I asked, eager to have another laugh and be happy once more, despite my heavy load, breaking my back and my spirits sometimes. I was in fear sometimes, wishing for some female guidance, but knew that there was none. I had to be on my own.

"Jeanie, as you can see, the latrine is being shared by both male and female personnel, officer and enlisted men, in this camp alike, right over there," Henry began in a lecture-like tone as I saw the long line on the other side of the camp. "As of last night, there will only be one latrine until the enlisted personnel manage to…to, umm, fix the other one."

"Dropping the walls to the male one was worth it," Trapper laughed again.

"With Frank Burns inside," Hawkeye added with another twinkle in his eyes.

I stifled my giggles when I saw Frank coming up behind me immediately after the prank's contents were revealed to me, trying to imagine the scene from the night before, as I've always done when being described yet another one, but images of the orphanage and the children giving me a farewell party came before them. Tears threatened me again, but I would not let them come down. I couldn't afford it.

I could not! I have no regrets. I could never have them!

"Colonel Blake, this woman should not be here!" Frank saluted Henry.

Henry saluted back, ignoring Hawkeye and Trapper's mirth and their pathetic attempts at saluting Frank, which were nonexistent.

"Captain Morrison has been ordered here, Frank," Henry reminded him. "You know this. She can't go home just yet, remember?"

"Still, Sir," Frank whined back, "she should be anywhere but a war zone!"

"If you haven't noticed, Frank, this whole _country_ is a war zone," I pointed out.

"Fi!" Frank yelled. "This is a little station outside of the country you can be, Captain. You've acted the –"

"Don't you dare, Frank!" I screamed in anger and resentment, aware of what he was going to say, as almost everybody else in the camp as called me (save for Father Mulcahy, Henry, Hawkeye, Radar and Trapper). "I can't leave this damned country on orders and it's killing me already. Damn you and –"

"That's fine and dandy now, Jeanie," Henry interrupted me. "Frank, go to my office and we'll talk it over. I have the paperwork somewhere. Just ask Radar for it and we can review it together to your satisfaction. Is that hunky dory for you now?"

"Yes, Sir," Frank replied, humbled finally and saluting again. "Sir, and one more thing: it's September twentieth, twelve hundred hours. Shouldn't Pierce and McIntyre be on shift today?"

"We have two wounded soldiers in there, Frank, and we're free." Hawkeye smiled. "They're going to Tokyo and then home soon enough. Would you like us to smother them?"

"Har, har, har," I heard Frank say, suddenly walking away to Henry's office with our gallant Commanding Officer right after him, jogging to keep up with the Major's fast pace and yelling orders to us behind him.

What Henry said to us, I could not hear. I was keener on ignoring them. And what we didn't hear, we can say we couldn't follow through on.

I turned back to the Captains instead, smiling and not feeling flushed and angry anymore. "I take it that it's been boring here?" I asked.

Trapper smiled. "Not with Frank around," he replied, laughing once more.


	38. The Next Chapter Begins

That night was something for me to remember. September twentieth was the night that I could never forget for the rest of my life. It began in reality – something I could touch, feel and see for once – and ended in a dream, leaving me to wake up with a child in my arms and my hopes so cruelly dashed. It began in hope and ended in love, feelings I had to give up so readily as the days wore on and the night became colder and colder.

It all began in the Swamp, as it always did…or did it? Yes, that was it. I was in the Swamp, as I always was. Hawkeye and Trapper wanted some gin from their still and were teasing me with it, saying how I could not drink yet and oh, what a mother I am going to be when I had the baby (drunk and happy at the same time). I knew that words were words, and that they could not hurt me, but I almost swatted them both. I could not get up so easily, of course, and it would have been in vain, hence how funny it seemed.

However, their words reminded me of my fate: how I am staying here in Korea, where my child was going and how I am going to survive without being a proper mother. And with that thought, a small sting of pain went through my back. I shuddered, ignoring it.

_Oh, Dear God…_

Hawkeye, Trapper and I finally relaxed after a pillow fight ensued suddenly (my fault, of course!), feeling the quiet of the night as the feathers flew to and fro. Crickets even sang us their song once more, telling us, in sorrow, how we spent this year here in Korea. And look where we are now!

_Sing us a song of war, won't you? All we see are human destruction, pain and death. Where is the quiet and peace of this night going to? We're all going to die anytime now._

I heard the words well enough, knowing all about it. I missed the quiet of something called a home, whatever it was, and could only sit as the two friends drank deeply and cursed the war.

Soon enough, though, talk moved onto other things. Hawkeye asked me about the orphanage and I would supply him with stories, faces and pictures immediately, describing one and all that I knew. I remembered every child that was there – dead or alive, at this point – and sighed. I cried a few tears, not wanting to continue after telling him about the bombing in the fields a few months previously, in which some of the children were, hunting for some food in the farming fields. It hurt me too much, and Hawkeye knew it, so he stopped and sighed, cursing the war once more and drinking deeply.

In turn, Hawkeye told me about the latest news (and gossip, town, family or otherwise) from Crabapple Cove and tried to cheer me up with pictures of the beaches and lobsters, forests and woods, from his father. I saw them, as well as beauty in the black and white pictures sent to cheer him up, and smiled. I would have liked to see there someday…with Hawkeye right next to me.

And there went another cramp, creeping up my back like a black widow spider, crawling up to purposely poison me.

Next was Trapper. After Hawkeye joked about the news from home and how his father seemed to have another woman to hang out with (which was so much like Hawkeye, before we began our relationship), Trapper took me to his side of the tent and showed me pictures of his daughters. Becky's birthday party was in one of the piles, the one he missed the month before. His wife took pictures of that day for him, to help him feel at home in Korea. Mrs. McIntyre even wrote on the back of one picture of the three of them in one, saying, _I'll be waiting for you, Darling. We love and miss you very much!_

I saw a tear come down Trapper's face slowly – an accident of war, an accident showing his own weakness – but he wiped it away quickly so that I couldn't see it again…or the countless others he had probably cried when nobody was watching him.

"I miss them more than you know," Trapper informed me almost indifferently (as if to hide the pain he felt in missing them) as Hawkeye took another glass from the still. "I can't wait to get out of here. I'll just pack up my latrine supplies and leave the rest behind. This tent can be a gift to the rats and roaches."

"Hear, hear!" Hawkeye announced from his side of the tent, when he got back there from the still. "Let's cheer them, the dirty socks and magazines!"

I waddled back slowly…carefully…to Hawkeye's side of the tent, not wanting Trapper to see my own tears at my upcoming loss. Sitting down at the chair next to Hawkeye's cot (as he laid there, an empty glass on the floor next to me), I wiped away my own drying waterfall and then put my fingers through his jet-black hair, ignoring the nasty magazines the two read and laughed at. I vowed to burn every one of Hawkeye's, but I never did get the chance to…yet.

"I'm glad to be back," I randomly said slowly, rubbing Hawkeye's forehead…just like I used to do.

Hawkeye eyed me doing such and smiled. "Shouldn't I be doing that to you?" he asked nervously, smiling at me, remembering all of our few goods times. We have, as a couple, had so few moments together in the year of 1951 (the year before being a distant memory to me), so this closeness made me complete again.

But I disagreed with him. I had my own reasons why.

"Who's the Chief Surgeon here?" I asked, smiling back at him and continuing my massage. "Who stresses out more?"

"Hey, can you two teenagers get a room? Some of us here are trying to be miserable." Trapper threw a roll of toilet paper at Hawkeye and me, the white flag covering me as if I were an oversized, fat tree on Mischief Night.

"If there was one, I'd go," I replied, throwing back some of the ripped toilet paper at Trapper and laughing with glee.

"I think Henry has the Supply Room tonight with –" Hawkeye began before an explosion erupted.

Immediately, the three of us were on the floor, scared out of our wits. Hawkeye was on top of me, to protect me from the debris coming from the landmine field, pieces of Earth and metal that ripped up one side of the Swamp. Already, Frank's side of the tent was in shreds.

Somebody or _something_ was getting us bombed and using the mine field to do it!

Airplanes were heard overheard, shooting in one direction and then the other. Explosions continued without end, it seemed, and the debris from this destruction – this annihilation called war – began once more. Only, this time, it was worse than anything we've ever had before.

Somehow, the peace of quiet of my homecoming to the 4077th was going to be cut short.

"When are they going to stop?" Trapper yelled as another bomb was heard in the distance, exploding just outside of the camp and shaking the ground like an earthquake.

However, that was not all I could feel all of a sudden, the creeping black widow spider already releasing its poison and quickly crawling away. A sticky, wet liquid was making me cold from the legs down. It dribbled from my pants to the floor, but caused me no pain.

It made my heart skip a beat, panic rising. I knew what it meant.

"I don't know, but whenever that is, I hope it's soon!" Hawkeye got up from on top of me and took his helmet off of a shelf quickly. He was concerned about the wounded in Post-Op, for sure, and was about to leave when Trapper got up and took his own helmet from his shelf.

Putting the helmet on my head as he bent down to see me, Trapper went to Hawkeye, nervous and scared. "Let me go. Your responsibility is here, with Jeanie. I don't know what will happen next, but I think you should be there for her. I can't do anything for her."

I knew, then and there, that he saw the wet mess on the Swamp's floor. In the deepest, darkest part of my mind, I realized that I was in deeper trouble than I thought.

Hawkeye looked to me and then to Post-Op multiple times, wondering, worried and in a deep hole: between a rock and a hard place. A decision had to be made, and made soon. We were being attacked and he had to make a decision whether to take care of the two patients in Post-Op or to take care of me, his Love.

Another explosion shook the Swamp again, the flaps of fabric letting in dirt and some fragments of war.

"Hawkeye, you're Chief Surgeon, but it doesn't mean you have to be there every time for every patient!" Trapper yelled as the two tried to keep their balance. "You have one right there who needs you. I'll get Henry to help you. Frank and I can handle two patients and the camp getting the hell out of here. She can't be moved!"

"Air raid! There's an air raid! We have to move!" We heard Frank yell from the distance, telling everyone the most obvious thing.

"I'm fine!" I tried to say back to Trapper, but I knew that my voice was lost to the mine field exploding and Frank's yelling. Fireworks lit up the skies quickly, causing Hawkeye and Trapper to hit the ground again, before the assault put them there again.

Hawkeye put his own helmet on Trapper's head, ignoring his own safety, knowing what he was to do now. His decision had been made.

"Be careful, Trap," he said after a minute of listening to the enemy fighting our forces, creating craters closer and closer to where we were, the landmine exploding again. "We can't move Jeanie right now. I agree, get Henry quickly. He'll gonna have to help me. He's done this before."

Another small back spasm crept up my body, making me want to scream as it grew a little stronger. My face registered pain and fear, but I could not voice them, knowing again the priorities of this camp and how to proceed. There were more important things to think about…like getting the hell out of the enemies' way, or even trying to get up from the floor of the Swamp. I could do neither though. I was stuck, sticky and in pain.

Hawkeye crawled to me as Trapper ran out to Post-Op, falling a few times as he ran, keeping his balance as he barked orders for the two wounded men to be evacuated and that the camp should be packing and out the door as soon as possible.

Where Henry and Frank were, I didn't know. I would have thought that one of the two would be saying the same thing and not a mere Captain who, for the whole time he had been in Korea, had been mocking the Army and its maneuvers and lamenting the loss of life and the emptiness felt, his own family being so far away.

"Are you all right, Jeanie?" Hawkeye asked as he came over to me, concerned once more.

"I've never felt better in my life," I replied sharply, being sarcastic. "Dammit, what a time to have a child, isn't it? Damn, owww!"

Hawkeye only held me, covering my body with his. "It'll be over soon, Jeanie," he only said, doubtful himself (I heard it in his voice). "War is hell, I know. We'll get through it together."

~00~

_I was only aware of everything else in some way, as if it in a dream, all of its images surreal and in swirls and circles. It's like you were sleeping almost: it's all black and time has no meaning. Everything in your body and mind still works, but when you're totally aware of everything once more – fully and in a clear picture – it's all illusory. Nothing seemed to be real ever._

_However, I knew even more than that. I was losing blood faster than it could be given to me (AB negative blood was scarce, I knew, and I was one of a kind), I seemed to be dying and there were bombs going off outside of the O.R. still. I even saw Henry and Hawkeye in this dream of mine, this imagery that wasn't quite true. They looked worried, albeit nervous, in their surgical garb. And there were whispered words, words I could hardly hear, much less understand, and glances exchanged as hour after hour passed and nothing seemed to happen._

_Radar was nowhere in sight. I think I heard Hawkeye say that the poor guy fainted and was in Post-Op, under a bed, safe and sound for the time being._

_Life was like a tunnel afterward, with pain around me and no relief. There was some light at the end of it and yet, it was nowhere in sight. I could not see it just yet. There had to be some time before it would come to me. Oh, Henry and Hawkeye must have seen it, but I didn't. But I knew that it was there, waiting for me. And then, there it was, pushing me forward and letting me see in the full, allowing me to see life once more._

_It was some time before I saw myself in the O.R. fully, feeling drained and tired. Before me, beyond the sheet that separated me from reality, were Henry and Hawkeye, Henry cuddling a bloody bundle in his white arms, slowly dripping some blood and mucus. Hawkeye looked proud of me, but could not say anything. His eyes were wet, but I knew that he could not cry._

_Hawkeye took it from Henry, saying cheerfully as he started to wipe the large bundle clean, "Congratulations, Henry, you're now a grandfather. It's a girl."_

_Hawkeye was smiling, ready to crack a joke at me, but I didn't hear it. However, I felt a smile on my face, holding out my arms for that little bundle that was mine, given to me wrapped up, to keep her warm. Of course, _she_ was mine. She was my daughter, my little daughter, who was to stay with me for as long as we were allowed to be. I had few precious moments with her, but those would be few and far between in the future while I stayed here in Korea._

_"I'm not ready to be a grandfather just yet. There are too many years ahead for me to earn that title from any one of my children," I heard Henry say. Then: "Pierce, is that wise now?"_

_Henry was walking towards me, afraid that my little daughter would be dropped by my weak arms. However, I could not drop her. I was holding upon her too tightly after Hawkeye gave her to me, my bundle of joy that I almost killed shamefully and without thought._

_"I think so, Henry," Hawkeye replied, I think. "Leave her alone."_

_An explosion went over outside, shaking the building in what seemed like the millionth time. We knew that it wasn't going to sop anytime soon, so the best thing to do was enjoy whatever life was given to us in the moment and forget the war: forget its passions, deaths and heartbreaks. A miracle had been given to us and I, for one, could hardly contain myself._

_I looked at them both, fighting the urge to sleep against the loud advice of my mewing daughter, crying at me, her red face telling me to help her. I didn't know what to do for her just yet, but it would be soon enough before I figure out the ins and outs of being a mother…before everything in my body dried away and I start to forget the tiny infant in my arms._

_"Shannon, my Shannon," I whispered. "She's my daughter now."_


	39. An Epilogue of Some Sort

"You know you can't keep her here, Jeanie, much as I would have loved to."

Henry stood over me, ever the father-figure of my life, as the last (or so we dared to hope) of the enemy bombs burst amongst us, their planes (and ours) leaving us for the most part. Jesus, these were the first words I remembered hearing after waking up from that long night…the night in which I thought I was going to die…the night in which I thought I had lost my mind in this strange and painful dream…and then I smiled, seeing my daughter in my arms.

The whole camp, as I've come to find out within seconds, including the small amount of wounded, had evacuated the area to a village a few miles from here. As the threat was real, these two doctors and Company Clerk felt the need to keep me here instead of keeping me on the road with a screaming Frank Burns, who would have sited regulations about dragging me here and there. It had been a tough decision, but with the fighting, staying with them at the 4077th seemed like a good idea.

I knew, soon enough, that the beds were going to be filled with more wounded and that there was going to be some work to do before everything starts to settle down again. I had to recover quickly and get over my disappointment of losing my daughter in order to survive. I just had to!

I looked around, ignoring Henry for a minute. Hawkeye, sleeping in a hospital bed next to me, was not responding to the terror beyond the doors – the faraway booming sounds of thunder – of Post-Op as he had frantically done before, in an attempt to help another breathe amongst us in the Land of the Living. The bombing was slowly stopping, as our side saw the enemy over us and fired back, as per usual.

I heard the occasional explosion near us – small and frantic – before another airplane came overhead. _Was it the end of the show finally? Could we breathe again and hope for an ending?_

Radar, naturally (after his initial shock), was still on the phone, trying to find out when this madness was to end finally. After being kept securely under a bed in Post-Op, the poor little guy hugged his teddy bear tightly (Henry had left it there with him before coming back to me) and kept silent, knowing that if the enemy decided to come through, that silence was the key. Practice as he may, Radar was not always a quiet person, but managed by himself until Henry and Hawkeye wheeled me into Post-Op with a baby in toll.

Indeed, I wanted it to end as well, like the others around me. And my daughter, my poor little baby daughter, who I have, in my living dream, named Shannon Cora, has not the chance to live like we had or the chance to see the world past these exploding shells. I am so sorry for it. I felt the need to protect her from all of this, but I could not. I had no choice.

Oh, God, I should have not brought her into the world, but I did, and there she was: pink, healthy and beautiful. She had a full head of dark, dark hair (I could not tell if it was my dark brown or black just yet), blue eyes (Henry claimed that they'll change color soon enough) and a small nose, like mine.

I sighed as I thought, knowing the moments were short with my child. Either we both were leaving Korea or that she was going to be with someone in the States if the Army needed me. Come to find out, I would hate the latter opinion, but I am sure it's going to be it, as Colonel Flagg told me it was going to be. I would hate it very much: hate staying in this country until the end of the war, hate being the childless mother and hate, most of all, to give her over to somebody else for care and love.

_If_…that word can change everything. It's a simple hope, a simple prayer even: a wish upon a star. Life depends upon one _if_ and then another and we never know where fate would let it fall.

I think I will scream to think that my baby would be in the hands of my parents, especially Clarence, that rapist of women. It was almost mortally dangerous enough: to hand her over to a death that I already went through and gone into over and over again. My poor baby could not handle hell like I could. She's too young, too innocent…

I would prefer Lorraine above all, but she had her hands full with _three_ other children, her last child (a little boy named Andrew) being born in late April. She didn't need another baby to keep her hands fuller, but I was desperate. I _needed_ her, but I couldn't be selfish and ask the world of her. Lorraine had taken care of me and Dean for so long and gave us so much of herself before we left her and Henry. She couldn't take on anymore.

"Henry, please, not now," I replied finally as I looked back to him again, holding Shannon dear and close to me, her face squished into my shoulder as she whimpered. "I can't think of our separation right now. She had just tasted what life is. She has just _started_ to feel what life is like without the bombing. I feel powerless to help her. I just want to hold her and protect her now."

Shannon's crying about the noise outside was breaking my heart and her drying sobs touched me as I snuggled her closer, her body dropping down from my shoulder to my heart. On the other hand, who am I to say anything? I would be the first to admit that I have no idea on how to raise a child, much less how I was to feel about children when they are mine. Was it normal to feel for a child like that? Were they always so scared of the outside noises like we are? How do they feel on a day-to-day basis? How helpless _are_ they?

"Jeanie, there isn't anything I could do," Henry continued, not considering what I said r the time it took for me to answer him. "Radar received the news yesterday, last night in fact, after she was born. The Army has decreed what will happen to Shannon."

"And since had they any control over my life over the last span of years?" I snapped suddenly, so unlike me, who had let them into my life in the first damned place and let them give me the hope I so richly deserved someday. "I belong to their institution. I work for them to keep our country safe or help to keep the boys, who run off to their little war, alive. Who says that they can tell me where I can place my family?"

I was shaking with a rare anger. It surprised me, and even Henry was taken back, but it didn't change the truth of the matter. I felt a bitter woman indeed to have let myself get into this mess. And there were few ways to fix it.

Henry paused, as if thinking of other words, but stopped. He only could sit down next to me on the bed, putting his arms around me, as if _he_ were my biological father (instead of Colonel "Heartless" Morrison, a grandfather at age sixty-eight), and kept close to us both. I felt well-protected and very-much loved, more so than ever before. The feelings were there again – the same ones I had for Henry when I started to depend upon him and Lorraine – and he, instead of Daddy, was standing into the parental unit role once more.

Then, Henry started the lecture that I didn't want to hear as he let go, as all parents surely must do. "Honey, there isn't anything I could do about it. You made a choice. You made the mistake. And you alone, right now, have to pay the price. I don't know who else is responsible, but I can't say anything to them. You said Major Simmons raped you and then, there was Pierce on top of everything else. One of them is locked away and the other is right here, hoping that the child isn't his, I'm betting."

"And you dare judge me? You dare to judge me on something that I had no control over?"

I was crying. My tears mingled with Shannon's cheeks, so much so that it was extremely pathetic. Suddenly, the family feelings went away. I am not a child, _his_ young child, but it hurt worse that he was treating me as such so apathetically.

Henry had not lectured me in a long time, not since I was a teenager and he was telling me about how I should ask for help when I needed it. And in this – not telling him I needed help and then everything happening to me within days of each other – I thought that he was disappointed in me, hence the cold, hard lecture. I was like another daughter to him in a way. Why am I screwing this relationship up by doing the things that I knew Henry dreaded the most? He feared for the worst for me, worried about me like his own children. And this happened…

"No, no, Jeanie," Henry protested, holding us – me and my baby – closer again. "No, I am not judging you. I just thought that you had more common sense than this. You are very responsible, more so than any other person I know out there. But now, in times of utmost tension, you decide to go out and have…well, umm, sex with someone else. And now, not knowing who the father is has made the consequences dire for Shannon."

He sighed, telling me the worst news for last, of course. "The Army has decided to follow up with what Colonel Flagg has said and has ordered that Shannon be handed over to your mother in Bloomington. She's the closest relation you have that isn't declared insane yet."

Another sigh escaped Henry's mouth. "Lorraine has offered to watch over her carefully, but knowing your mother, she would not have it. And there are other things going on that are going to prevent her from doing so."

My eyes welled with more fat tears, wounded by the fact that Henry thought the situation – it seemed – to be _my_ fault. This was not helping me (_no_, it was not) and neither is my mother watching over Shannon, which happened to be the _worst_ thing in the world. Shannon was going to be as abused as I was, if not worse, _because_ she is going to be declared a bastard by our own community. And Clarence wasn't going to let my pretty little girl with the bright eyes be spared his wrath, especially my own daughter: my own flesh and blood.

"Moreover," Henry continued as he finally moved himself away from my distress and sat at the edge of the bed again, "when they have determined who the father is, they will send the child to his home according to the law. The father will have to pay for the child and custody might be handed to his family until such a time you can leave Korea. Or, custody might be handed over to another family, a foster family."

_If they can find out,_ I thought, never daring to speak. _If they can find out who my child's father is, then fine. And what makes Shannon still, especially if Major Simmons is her biological father? What will happen to her? In my mother's eyes, as well as all of society's eyes, she is a bastard. But to me, she is a gift. She has made me happier than I ever imagined someone would make me and now, she's going away from me. A piece of me will be gone._

"Do you understand, Jeanie? Do you understand what's going on and the consequences of it?"

Henry wiped the tears from my face, ignoring the dribble from my nose. I was notorious for leaving my nose a mess when crying hard like this. Henry knew it well so used the sheet to wipe my nose clean as I had my hands full. I laughed at this, choking on my emotions.

What am I to do now? What _can_ I feel? My own child is being taken away from me and, oh, wait, here's the good news! She has no father she can acknowledge as hers! And oh, wait, there's more! My undeclared-insane mother is taking her in until the Army has declared who the father is. Oh, this has made _my_ day. If Hawkeye is the father, I don't know how much relief or pain we both will feel. And if Major Simmons is her father, his family is not going to forgive me. I have heard that the family itself is a bunch of lunatics, much more so than my own mother.

Would I help my daughter that way? Would it good for her be with family like that, even if they are blood related? No, never!

"Yes, Henry," I finally muttered keeping silent for a moment and looking at Shannon again. I paused, but then asked the most important question: "So, I'm still going to be staying here, huh? Colonel Flagg was right, after all. I'll be killed if I step foot out of this country, save for Japan, for sure."

I laughed again, cold and hard. This wasn't like me. This mix of emotions was not me. _Where am I going to? How am I going to handle myself? _Most importantly, how can life go on, after all of _this_? Life was, most certainly, never going to be the same for me afterward. I was a mother, I was going to lose my child and I'm stuck in some hellhole because the Army can't spare me and my military secrets on civilian life: a huge security risk to America.

_This is lovely…_

"It looks like it," Henry responded as he smiled. "So get used to it, Jeanie. I'll be keeping a sharper eye on you. I'll make sure nothing else happens to you, so much so that the goons in this camp won't know what happened to them." Then, he frowned. "However, Simmons or Pierce will have to decide fast, to claim the child."

There was a silly grin from my Commanding Officer, to chase away the frown from his own face. This made me laugher harder and this time, it was with feeling. Henry watching over me was like Hawkeye and Trapper not seeing a new nurse. It was impossible.

Worse yet, with this news, I knew that he had little or no trust in me then to take care of my own self. He meant that he didn't think I could carry myself on my own two feet. He was worried about me. And worry in Henry Blake meant that I could never be invisible to the camp again. He _had_ to protect me.

I stopped laughing. This was a serious matter. _I am staying here and my daughter, my pride and joy, is leaving for the States. She's staying with my mother and…no, it can't be…_

I stopped thinking these horrible thoughts. Shannon is a survivor. She survived a horrible ordeal with me, a horrible birth and with enemy shells around her and me. Now, she has to learn survival in the best form: my mother and that rapist, Clarence. She had a chance. I have no doubts about it. We both could endure the pain and the separation until…until…until when?

Serious again, I asked Henry, "When is she leaving?" I knew that I needed some time before I could let go of this bundle of happiness. I could not help but be obsessed over her: her dark hair (not even a peach-fuzz) on her head, the round bright blue eyes staring back at me and even her tiny fingers and toes, like tiny seashells almost.

"Next week, before the camp comes back," was the reply from Radar, who had just come into Post-Op. "H.Q. in Seoul says that she'll be taken care of by a returning nurse until reaching Bloomington, where one Mrs. Rebeccah Lowes will pick her up from the airport."

Dear, that was all I needed. There was only a week before I could let her go. I had to wean myself off of her and let my daughter off into the world and walk on her own two feet, off to be manipulated by the two most scheming people out there. And to me, it was much too early, oh, too early to let her out into a vicious world that would deem her undesirable for anything but hardship and harassment. And it was all because I was being selfish.

_Oh, my baby, what have I done? Where have I put you? How could I be this selfish and allow it to happen to you?_

I closed my eyes and suddenly went to sleep, only to open them some time later when I felt the pain of afterbirth. Hawkeye, Henry, Radar and Shannon were gone. Again, I was alone, alone in the world. And worst of all, I am in Korea: Korea, beautiful and yet exploding its own self around me. The countryside was destroyed by a "police action" gone wrong. It was a war I could never escape, not matter what I did, until its very end or at my death.

Klinger's words, from the past summer – the first full summer in Korea – when he visited with Father Mulcahy at the orphanage, rang in my ears again as I tried to sit up, thinking: "We are not here to make a quick exit, Captain. We are here in hell. And it only gets worse."

_How true they are, Klinger. And we can only hope that it'll all be over soon. Let's hope to go home soon enough._


	40. I Did Not Die

Only a couple of weeks after Shannon was shipped out of Korea in a tearful farewell on my part, so was Henry, who promised me so much and could only do so little. He had gained enough points to leave Korea (taking him a year to achieve such), having his discharge announced as we stood in the O.R., waiting for the mail to come and for another day to pass to keep us all whole. So, with much ado (and jealous on my side as well as everyone else's in the camp), I said goodbye to the father I never had: the only person in my life who truly looked after my life's interests, yet had to stand back and watch me grow up on my own and to find my own way to everything.

It took three days for Henry to pack up his things and head out of camp, giving a beautiful farewell to all of us on the way to the chopper in a brand new suit ordered just for his departure: a kiss to Margaret, zippering up Klinger's dress, trying to give Hawkeye a handshake (it'll never do) and even embracing everybody. Then, our troops in the camp were gallantly following him to the batch of wounded coming up with the chopper that flew in to pick him up.

Saying that he'll help, Hawkeye pushed Henry to leave, saying that he was fired from his job and that he had to go home to his wife and children and live in the civilian world once more. Lorraine was waiting for him patiently enough, quietly enough, eager to change the furniture and to go back to a normal life with her husband once more.

Radar felt worse than I did at this point. At the chopper landing, before Radar could even bid him farewell and salute him, I swung my no-longer petite body into his arms, much as I did as a child, and whispered my goodbyes and gave him messages to say to Lorraine and the children (with him staggering under my new weight, laughing at me). I never knew, at that moment, that it was the last time I was to see him alive. It was the last time that anyone here – or anyone else, save for his chopper pilot – saw him look into the eyes of the living.

Later that evening, in the O.R. at about nineteen hundred hours, news came in the worst form. I will never forget the words, the _tears_, for as long as I can live. And may anyone from above strike me dead if I ever do, but oh, please, let me remember Henry Blake as he was and never how he went, a drowned and lost body of the war probably never to be recovered. Please, if my prayers of a liberal spirit be heard, then let me know that he can rest in peace and that his family will be well-provided for. Oh, God, please, let me die with him…

_"I have a message. Lieutenant Colonel…Henry Blake's plane…was shot down…over the Sea of Japan. It spun in. There were no survivors."_

The tears were never-ending. For days, there was nothing but that.

Afterward, I couldn't feel anymore, couldn't _comprehend_ as I walked the camp with Hawkeye and Trapper trying to chatter and idle their hours in the best way possible, forgetting that Henry was gone forever. To me, everything I had ever known meant nothing more to me anymore, even those who loved me and those things I loved. All feelings I had were gone.

My structured wall was shattered into pieces. Whatever composure I had was gone.

I had lost one of my links of home: the person who took care of me and knew me the longest, the person who loved me for who I was and guided me when he could. Oh, God, only my older brother, Dean, remained close to me and was alive around my arms, spending nights with me, if he could come to me, to cry with me over the loss. He and his unit spent their days patrolling around the camp, ridding us of our enemies and keeping us safe: a family curse over both of our heads, never knowing which of us would be next.

~00~

A few days later, while Hawkeye was in Tokyo for his weeks' worth of R&R (Frank and Margaret letting him go because he seemed a little nuts), Trapper left the 4077th as well (running through the Mess Tent naked, but it was a premature celebration). He was finally discharged partially because it was, as the Army decreed, his duty to father a child that was shipped out a few weeks previous and was not even his. His next duty, despite everything, was with a small girl in Bloomington, Illinois, who was going to be shipped to Boston with him so that his wife could feed and clothe her, as her own children. The Army did not think Simmons or Hawkeye as the father (choosing not to do anything yet), so chose Trapper, who never even touched me.

Trapper, before he left us permanently, came to me the night before he left for home. I was in the Officers' Club (Rosie's being closed for a while), where I usually spent my time with Klinger and Father Mulcahy, and trying to get drunk enough to forget my deepening troubles and doubts. Kissing me deeply and dancing to a song from the jukebox with me after much prodding and pleading on his part, Trapper told me to take care of myself (he will make sure Shannon will be ok) and then he left me, without looking back at me, without even telling me how much I meant to him: as a co-worker, a friend and a sister.

I knew what Trapper was talking about. Shannon was as unwanted as my mother made her out to be, as unwanted as Trapper's wife wanted her to be and as unwanted as I made her to be when I found out I was pregnant with her. And, to think, it hurts me now that I had feelings that way. I miss her dearly and hope she grows up nicely as I work in this war, always wondering about her welfare and how I would miss her first steps, words and such.

I never realized it until then, but I love Shannon as I would love my family. I only felt it deeper, more buried within my heart, but harder to hide from other people. And they all knew it.

_Oh, God, help me, please, I beseech you._ _I ask of you to help me, at long last…_

No, my silent prayers will _never_ be answered, even drinking very heavily in the social whirl called the Officers' Club. After Henry's death, I lost my faith in the concept of life, death and its continuing cycles. My lips are frozen in fear. The cold can never leave me. And all I had to do was to continue working, and pretend that it all never happened. But I cannot.

~00~

Hawkeye came back from Tokyo the next day and, finding that Trapper was leaving (as Radar told him in the showers, running there after fooling around with the Majors), ran off to the airport with Radar to bid Trapper a farewell and to meet with our new surgeon, Captain B.J. Hunnicutt (Hawkeye missed Trapper by ten minutes, come to find out). Shortly afterward, with the new surgeon in place at the Swamp and things a little more normal than it was before, events started to move quickly and changes were soon made, good and bad.

Frank Burns (as well as Margaret) was kicked out of the commander's post and a new Colonel, one Colonel Sherman Potter, came within our camp. Then, things slowly started to change and a routine was established with the new Commanding Officer (who we all thought was Regular Army, but turned out to be one of us). Relationships shifted, friendships deepened and the camp routine changed. With a little more structure to the 4077th, the night life dropped drastically. The fun and games seemed to be over for the time being, but the closeness and togetherness of the people within this community tightened.

And, of course, my love for Hawkeye started to hide itself once more, knowing that he was too upset to be dating me again. He still loved me with a passion that would never burn out and it was noticed by one and all, but to bring back the days – and nights – of love and games were almost impossible. He came back to camp with B.J. a changed man and he had to joke around to be sane again, ignoring the masses of stretch marks, pregnancy weight and grey hairs that is me.

Afterward, throughout all of these changes, Frank's relationship with Margaret, from then on out, started to cool down and fade away (from one side anyhow). Rare was the time they were together again, never like it was when Henry was in control of the camp and the two would team up and call Generals to go over his head. Margaret was her own woman now, as we slowly started to see, and she would be no man's mistress, not even a weasel such as Major Frank Burns, who would never divorce his wife to marry the one that he truly loved.

~00~

And so, the cycle continues here for us, never missing a heartbeat, never underestimating the harshness of where we are and what we do. We do as it decrees us. We dance to the tune we are told to and only ask how far we much go to please it. We had no control over our lives anymore, but to watch ourselves grow older with each passing O.R. session, each child that passes through our community. War did that to us, after all, and we could no longer afford to go back to what we used to be.

To think, I reflect upon this now and especially about how I am still in this hellhole. It might be a matter of time before I can leave, but it feels like an eternity. However, I built a structure of pride here: it is my duty to see it through and to keep it high, knowing that all hate me more. With these deaths that come to us, these deeply-felt departures, I build myself up the pedestal, one that will hold me high and not allow me to crack and break, but to hold myself and others together.

Dammit, it is not the time to give grief, but to give ourselves strength for the future at hand.

Oh, time flew by, as it usually does. Emotional wounds started to heal and even laughter was heard again. To me, it was nothing, nothing like the old times when Henry was around. I walked around the camp still – that lone walker in the mine fields – wondering when I can feel joy in my heart again, when the darkness before my eyes will clear up and when ears will hear more than the cries of pain and death.

_Will the war end? Will we all go home someday? When will I see Shannon again? Will Hawkeye and I have a life together, just like we both planned and dreamed about before Shannon was even born?_ These questions continued to plague me.

A piece of optimism even came as letters arrived from Bloomington. It was before Christmas of 1951, in the month of November, when I received a letter from Lorraine. Dated some weeks before, she discussed many things about home: her children, Shannon, her feelings upon hearing of Henry's untimely death and even the future. Yes, she had hope for it and was stronger than I thought. She knew that she could live without Henry, although the hole in her heart, and her soul, will never heal until they are together again in another life, one that I could hardly believe in.

Throughout the hardships Lorraine had with Henry, she still loved him and forgave all that he had done here in Korea, even his relationship with Leslie Dish (which I could never fathom how she found out about, seeing as how I never send her the letter about it, although it was ready). Even that didn't seem so cruel to her anymore because her love for him never diminished, never vanished. It was the same kind of love that I always wished to have for myself.

I was reading Lorraine's words in my tent, thinking about the last words she wrote at the bottom of the page. She had said it was a poem she read when reading in the newspapers about the deaths of the boys over here. She thought it appropriate and sent it to me, wanting to share.

_It is almost as if I cannot be there for Henry and weep at his final grave. He may be never be recovered and we may never grief for him properly. But it was not what he wanted, was it?_

It was what Lorraine wrote, word for word. Grief had written it for her. But Lorraine had rung true with the words: who can weep for Henry when there was no grave to weep at, no place where we can see him for a final time? His memory lives in our hearts, weak and silly as his being was sometimes, always amazing someone when he had a little backbone. Oh, hell, his little smile and laugh…his decisions…and even his military double-talk…will be missed forever afterward.

Carefully putting Lorraine's letter back in its envelope, I kicked back on my bunk and almost carelessly threw the letter onto the floor. Oh, it didn't seem to matter to me that the nurses read the mail from the States anymore, fewer and fewer of them being from Henry's time. It seems a thing of the past: this prying of my personal business. New times are rolling in. Perhaps they are changing us as well.

I didn't care anymore. Just as long as I stay as invisible as most people continue to make me feel (unless I decided to come out with some sarcastic comment and be within the limelight once more), then I am fine. Just as long as they ignore me and continue to cry "Whore", then I might as well get used to it. There is no escaping the past now.

Emotions rolled over me, but I cannot cry anymore. My tears are as dry as my prayers: frozen in place, as always. I thought again, bouncing off of my bunk and reopening the letter that I threw to the floor. I reread those last words, the poem in which Lorraine took some comfort from. Maybe I could too…?

_Do__ not stand at my grave and forever weep.  
I am not there, I do not sleep.  
I am a thousand winds that blow,  
I am the diamond glints on snow,  
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,  
I am the gentle autumn's rain.  
When you awaken in the morning's hush,  
I am the swift uplifting rush,  
Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
I am the soft stars that shine at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and forever cry  
I am not there, I did not die…_


End file.
